Do ut des
by I'm Photosynthesis
Summary: It's been a while since the Courier handed the wastes to the arms of the Legion, but certain scars can never heal. Arcade Gannon meets an unlikely saint and is caught up in the manipulating plans Caesar has in store. Lydia takes Raul, Boone, and Benny and runs with them to the DC wastes. From Fallout New Vegas to 3 Rated T for mild violence, mild cussing and implied sexual themes
1. Chapter 1

If I didn't control my breathing, someone would be able to figure out that something was wrong. They would notice that _someone_ was wrong. Or rather, that they were missing—possibly dead—and that I was an imposter that took their clothes. Of course, if they weren't already suspicious due to the fact that a uniformed woman was walking in their presence, I didn't know what would tip them off. My gender was my largest fault here, and there was nothing I could do to hide it. What I could do, however, was pretend as if I had a purpose for being there, cross my fingers, and hope to Atom that soldiers would be too afraid to be called out for disrupting an official if I actually did have a purpose rather than confront me.

I supposed that it wasn't all bad, however. I had the coolest armor in the whole fort, at least. While the Vexillarius was not the highest ranked—according to my hasty studies of their culture for a few hours—they had an excuse to sit around and eat their fill of the readily accessible supplies just begging to be taken. My stomach growled as I thought of how well I would eat after I high-tailed it out of the Fort.

"_Ave_," called a passing soldier—a recruit, by the looks of his mask. He gave me a funny look, and for a second I thought back to the rebellious tendencies that youngsters often held and braced myself for any unfortunate happenings that were about to be flung my way.

"_Ave_," I repeated, doing my best to keep my voice calm, then for a good measure added "True to Caesar."

Lucky for me, he seemed satisfied with this answer, and continued on his way. From under my fox hood and dark goggles, I sighed with relief. Looked like he didn't want to face any possibility of crucifixion for being wrong and pointing out an actual Vexillarius that he just didn't know about.

As I ventured further into the Fort, passing recruits milling about with their shotguns and Power Fists, it dawned on me that it was a bad idea to infiltrate the Legion Fort after only a few hours of spying. At the time, I had thought I had learned enough to ease my painfully grumbling stomach, but now I was cursing both myself and said grumbling stomach for being so foolishly impatient.

Slave girls were running about, standing at tables, or carrying heavy things up and down the stairs. As I passed them, they looked at me strangely but didn't say a word. If they did, I was sure somebody would have beaten them. It was a cruel world being a woman in the Legion, unless you were me—at the moment, of course—who was dressed up as a man and wasn't even a real soldier anyway. After the infamous Courier had turned the tides of the war to the red bull, all of my connections ran as dry as the El Dorado and the Legion became my only option. It was rumored that the Fort was the best place to get supplies. I was dangerously low. After adding two and two together, I hadn't had much of a choice otherwise.

Up ahead loomed a promising sight—the picturesque display of feasting soldiers. My stomach growled a little louder, and I smiled faintly as I began towards the tent.

I was caught from behind by the blacksmith that I had unknowingly been standing by. "Do I know you, soldier?"

My mind reeled violently, and I had to fight to keep the feeling from knocking me off of my feet. "Um!" I sputtered as he loomed over me, waiting for an answer. "New Vexillarius, assigned by Caesar himself! Do we… have a problem?"

From under his mask—it looked like a recruit mask, but the grindstone that he was standing by told me that he was no recruit—he eyed me curiously. "I didn't know that Caesar was off hiring women now," he smirked. "Or are you just a former fat boy that couldn't be rid of his overgrown chest?"

If I was doomed to be hung on a cross for my attempts to get in, I might as well go down in style. "I didn't know Caesar was off hiring douchebag blacksmiths now. Or are you just a lost Mirelurk that tried to hide its ugly face behind the Legion lines?"

Even though my insult wasn't the greatest, he didn't seem to have come up with any more comebacks and shrunk back to his grindstone, eyeing me darkly while his hands returned to their work. I eyed him back warily, guessing that as soon as I left he would probably go running to Caesar to let him know there was a woman in their midst that wasn't supposed to be there.

I began to shuffle away, picking up speed the further I got from him. If I was going to get my supplies, I was going to need to get them fast.

As I neared the food-tent, out of the corner of my eye I saw an odd flash of white, and a scuffle. Turning my head, I saw a soldier punch another man in the face. The other man was the said white I had glimpsed, as he was wearing what seemed to be and old Follower's lab coat, which was very odd, especially for the Legion. His hair was also a light blonde, giving him a figurative halo to complete the "angel trapped by the demons of the Legion forces" look that he gave off.

"Back to the tent with you," the soldier laughed. "_Verbero!_"

"I understand perfectly well what you're saying, _vappa ac nebulo!_" hissed back the man with the coat. "I'm going, I'm going!"

"Quiet, fool!" the soldier kicked the man in the knee, sending him toppling to the ground. "Back to the tent!"

A familiar feeling swept over me; it was one that I knew well from my distasteful childhood. The feeling that I remembered swelling over me as I stood up to tell my father: _I'm not like you_.

I fought the feeling. This was not the time to be experiencing rebelliousness, when I was doing my best to get in, get my food, and dash out before I lost my  
life, but the feeling amplified as the memories increased. The man in white straightened, squared off his shoulders, clenched his fists, and I saw myself at a younger age—though the man was quite obviously just as old if not older than I. Even so, in his eyes I thought I saw the twinkle of helplessness at fighting a fight alone.

"_Quis est haec simia?_" I called, recalling the only Latin I had ever bothered to learn as a young girl. I wasn't even sure what it meant, but the words sprang from my mouth from habit of mimicry before I realized what I had said. As the soldier looked my way with a grin, I gathered my composure as best I could, trying to look as if I had meant to say whatever it was that I had said.

It seemed to have convinced the soldier. "_The verberablissime!_" he exclaimed, gesturing to the fuming man in white. "He refuses to go back to his tent."

"I don't refuse," the '_verberablissime_' argued. "It's a little difficult when you're kicking me around."

"By order of Caesar, I have the right to do whatever I like as long as he staggers back to our lord Caesar bright and early the next day," the soldier spat.

I had interrupted already; it was only expected of me to continue with the bout I had started. "I'll get him back to his tent. You… go back to yours. Get some rest."

"What do you plan to do, inspire him?" the soldier chuckled, tugging on the flag held high on my back.

"Did it ever cross your mind, soldier, that I didn't obtain higher order to take him back to his tent?" I raised my voice like a general, barking at him. "Unless you want to end up on the crosses, you had better listen when a messenger of Caesar orders you to go back to your tent!"

At the mentioning of crucifixes, the soldier lost all humor and growled back at me. "All right, si—ma'am… Do what you will; I'll be back in the morning, though, and if anything is amiss, _you'll_ end up on the crosses, and I'll make sure of it."

As the man turned to walk away, shooting me a sinister look as he went, I gave the slave a light tap on the shoulder to get him to move. He tipped his head up with dignity, straightened his thickly-rimmed glasses, and began to walk confidently back to a red tent that was set apart from the others. Not knowing what else to do now that I had butted into the situation, I followed him closely.

At the tent, the man spent no hesitation before opening the flap and disappearing inside. I stood beside the door awkwardly until the fabric stood still. "Shit," I muttered under my breath. "I'm so dead for this."

My stomach growled again, and I thought back to the food-tent, wondering if I could grab a few steaks and still manage to high-tail it out. I opened the door-flap a crack to peer inside. The Follower slave was hunched in defeat on the small mattress thrown on the ground in the corner.

"I don't suppose you want anything from the food-tent, do you?"

He startled to attention and eyed me curiously in silence.

I bit my lip. "If you want anything, you had better say so before I leave. I won't be coming back."

"Get in here; I need to be clear with something," he said bluntly.

I cautiously stepped inside, forcing the flap closed behind me. "Yeah?"

"You're no soldier."

I thought that I would be confronted by someone eventually, but my cover being blown by a slave stung like cazador venom. "What exactly gave me away?"

"Your kind offerings to Caesar's physician-slave was a big one," the man said. "Along with your female attributes, and your big head in thinking that the Vexillarius can boss everyone around. Also, I'm not exactly sure you knew what you said when you greeted my guard."

I looked back at him grimly. "I'm guessing that you did, then?"

"You said 'who is this monkey?' I'm quite honestly surprised an imposter such as you hasn't been killed yet."

"I've only been here for a few hours," I protested.

"You should start counting them," the slave advised. "If you run into Vulpez or Caesar, you'll find yourself hung on a cross before anyone can whisper 'Et tu, Brute?'"

My heart drug down into the pit of my stomach. "Well, what do you suggest I do?"

"Lie low, don't talk to anyone, and definitely don't talk to any officials. If Caesar finds you, he'll remember perfectly well that he didn't hire any female soldiers, and you don't have the excuse of his headaches to atone for the forgetfulness either, after I was forced to cure them."

"Cure his headaches?" I wondered aloud, trying to put two and two together. "You must be… that doctor the Courier sold to Caesar. That would explain the Follower coat, at least."

"Yes," he said thoughtfully, laying hid head back onto his knees in dejection. "_Et tu, Courier?_"

Seeing the man in such a state sent an icy cold sympathy down my heart. "I'll get you something to eat before high-tailing it out of here," I told him. "Just wait here for a bit; I'll be back."

His blonde head just sat motionless on his knees in silence.

I shuffled closer to the tent-flap. "And by the way… I'm Lydia."

"Arcade," said he. "Charmed."


	2. Chapter 2

At the food-tent, I had managed to slip two brahmin steaks, four dog steaks, and three little bags of powder into my satchel. The darker it became, the less people that stopped at the food-tent, thus allowing me to take as many rations from the refrigerator as I wanted, though I figured it was safer to take a little at a time. Maybe I would be lucky and they wouldn't notice anything, or if they did, they blamed it on hungry slaves and left me alone.

I felt very hypocritical, hoping for slaves to shoulder my blame while trying to help one at the same time. Oh well, I had always connected more to men than women anyway.

As I neared Arcade's tent, I started to feel a dark aura hovering in the air.

Inside the tent, it was almost pitch-black, but as I focused, I could just barely manage to make out Arcade, sitting in the same place as when I left. As a small sliver of moonlight entered through the open door flap, it caught on a small piece of metal in his hands and glinted back at me.

In a flash, I slapped his hand, sending the metal flying to the other side of the tent. "What are you doing?" I snapped. "Is that a knife?"

"A scalpel, actually," he said, unfazed. "I was planning on disemboweling myself."

"Committing suicide?! What the hell are you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I had the opening to finally do what I've wanted to do for years," he snapped back. "They left me that opening, and it's my duty to take it."

"There has to be some other way than committing suicide—"

"—I'm a slave, Lydia. You might not know how it feels, but being deserted to the lowest status in a world that you tried to prevent is a little overwhelming."

"Okay, buddy, open your eyes just a bit," I said, grabbing a handful of his hair to pull his face to look at mine. "I got in, and I can get out, and so can you."

"It's not possible for me to get out," he argued.

"They left you the damn opening for the scalpel, Arcade. They'll leave you the damn opening for the escape as well, you just have to take the opportunity when it comes to you." I patted his head gently. "After I get my supplies, I'll help you out of here. I'll be your opportunity."

"No offense intended, but why should I trust you to sneak your way past all these Legionnaires with their most well-guarded slave? You can't even properly cover up your disguise—"

"—I do well enough—"

"—and even if you did get me out of here, it's not like I have anywhere to go, or anything to do with my life after what has already been done—"

"You sound like a heartbroken teenager," I scoffed.

"I am!" He clutched at his chest, as if it hurt. "Well, not the teenager part, of course, but…"

"Wait a minute," I narrowed my eyes. "You… you had a relationship with the courier! You're homosexual, and you had a relationship with the courier!"

He glared at me some more in silence, which I took as a silent confirmation to my hypothesis.

"Your relationship with the courier was pretty strong, then, for you not to see the whole slavery thing coming," I continued. "You must have been blinded by your love for him, and then he betrayed you, and sold you…"

The more I talked, the more he smoldered as I hit all the heavy nerves. I've always been good at reading people. Maybe a little too good.

"… So now, right now, you weren't killing yourself to escape from the Legion, necessarily, but to rid yourself of your heartbreak."

"_Minus solum, quam cum solus esset_," he murmured, bringing up his knees to hug miserably.

I wasn't sure what that meant, but the way he said it made me feel sad.

"Leave with me," I said, gripping him by the shoulders. "Come with me; live a better life. If you're going to kill yourself anyway, you might as well be a little less cowardly and die with honor if you're so certain we're going to get caught. Fortune favors the brave, after all."

"That may be true," he responded, muffled from his knees "but better a cautious commander, and not a rash one."

"Then we'll be cautious and brave. I'll get my supplies, you'll do damn well to keep yourself alive, and we'll wait for the right opportunity before acting upon it."

"When you're ready to sneak past the greatest spies/intelligence gatherers in the Mojave, be sure to go ahead without me. Alright?"

"Who said we were sneaking past?"

"Great," he muttered. "Either you're unimaginably stupid, or profoundly insane. You can't handle all the Legion on your own, trust me."

"Alright," I snapped back, snatching the scalpel from the ground. "But I'm keeping this, and you're coming with me when the coast is clear, whether you like it or not."


	3. Chapter 3

I was in trouble now. The whole reason I had snuck in the Fort with Vexillarius armor was to _not_ draw attention to myself. Now, it was my newfound duty to get myself out _and _Caesar's own personal physician-slave. Oh, Atom must really hate me or something. It wasn't until now that I started realizing that _every _Legionnaire in the whole camp had both shotguns _and _ballistic fists! Why was I so horribly unperceptive?

I started going through several scenarios in my head. If I was Mr. House, I would just get a whole bunch of robots to bust us out, but I wasn't Mr. House, seeing as how the sonofagun was dead. I didn't have an army of robots, and I had no idea where to get one, or how to get one with this constant threat of Caesar's Legion looming over my shoulders.

Oh, what in Atom's name was I even doing here? This had started out with just a simple, harmless supply run.

A legionnaire was walking my way, and I silently thanked the poor slave inside for kicking me awake not too long before. Imagine my head on a cross after being found sleeping on the job! A closer look at the approaching soldier proved that it was the same one from last night—the one that called Arcade a "_verberablissime"_. He had a scowl on his face that would kill a nightstalker in one glance.

"You're off. My turn," he said gruffly. "And Caesar has ordered you to his tent."

_Great!_ I was dead. "Why?"

"Don't question," he growled, baring his teeth. "Just go."

To be quite frank, I was freaked out. I wasn't sure why the guy was so scary all of a sudden, when it was so easy to influence him the night before. I nodded at him, doing my best to look composed, as if that was what I had _wanted_ him to say. My stride away from the red tent was hesitant and awkward, but I figured that Arcade was _way_ better off than I was at the time.

On the way to the tent on top of the hill, I started pulling excuses out of my butthole. _Why, Caesar, I am your humble servant, willing to fight for you—_no, that wouldn't work. I was a woman. If I really wanted to help the Legion, I would willingly become a slave, not kill a Vexillarius just to take his clothes. _Oh, Caesar, funny to meet you here. I was just in the neighborhood and decided that, hey, maybe I should kill one of your Vexillarii and wear his clothes around your camp. And while I'm at it, might I interest you in giving me safe passage out of here, with your physician-slave?_

As the only proper thing to say that I could come up with, I realized just how doomed that I was. _You should start counting them_, Arcade had said, and now I was counting. _Let's see, I slept about eight hours, plus two…_

The Praetorian at the tent flap smirked. "Just inside," he cooed. "Ave, true to Caesar."

I scowled at him. "Ave," I spat. "True to your mother last night."

The shock on his face was probably worth my horrible and painful death that was awaiting me.

After a deep breath, I pushed the cloth aside, and entered the bowels of hell. In front of me, and to either side, were two hulking, snarling dogs. Behind them, four or five Praetorians were glaring at me, tuning their Ballistic Fists and painting invisible targets on my face with their eyes. And there, in the middle of the aisle, sitting on a throne fit for Caesar was, well, Caesar.

He was eyeing me curiously, his hand stroking his chin as if he had been waiting for me, trying to look as intelligent as possible. Maybe he had. Maybe it was just habit because he really _was_ intelligent.

"And here she is," Caesar spoke "the woman running amok through my camp. So tell me this, woman, because I really want to know. I am feared, and for good reason. But you—of all people—dare to come here and stand before me, the mighty Caesar. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that you wanted to talk," I answered, now starting on counting my minutes.

"And you fell for that?" he said, raising his brows. "Really? Because I'm going to have you killed now."

My heart did a backflip. Counting the seconds now…

He grinned at me then. "Relax. I'm f*cking with you."

_WHAT._

"You do know why I brought you here, right?" he continued, sitting a little straighter in his throne, more official. "A woman—rightfully a slave—kills my Vexillarius out of earshot of my soldiers and prances around my camp for an entire night without causing alarm other than the complaining blacksmith who had his butt hurt."

_Butt-hurt blacksmith, eh? Well, now I know who ratted me out…_

"That takes balls," he admitted. "Which, of course, you obviously don't have. You've spiked my curiosity, and now I really do wonder what it is that you're trying to accomplish here in my camp."

"Supplies," I blurted. "Just supplies, is all. The Legion is the hub for all remaining provisions, especially after the War for Hoover Dam. There just aren't many places left to get food nowadays."

"And might I ask just how many supplies you have taken so far?"

I deeply wondered if I was out of the clear for being killed, or if there was still a chance my brain would become splattered across a cross at the front of the camp, as an example. "Six steaks and three bags of powder."

Caesar eyed the Legionnaire to his right, who calmly gazed back, unfazed. I wondered what miniature, silent conversation was going on between the two.

Perhaps, _What's the best way to kill her?_

_ I say let her choke on her steaks, sir._

_ Ah, yes, and then heal her with the powder, hang her on an upside-down cross, and throw her over the side of the Grand Canyon._

_ Perhaps add a nuke after her for effect?_

_ Perhaps._

"Vulpes," Caesar finally said aloud. "Kick a recruit out of his tent and let her have it."

**_WHAT._**

"I have decided that I have good use for you," Caesar continued, turning back to me. "With your infiltrating abilities, you have the potential to become a frumentarii. You will stay here for a few days, and I will see what use you can truly offer me."

I was stunned. For a moment, while Caesar dismissed me with a wave of his hand, my knees wouldn't stop shaking, rooting me to the spot. It wasn't until Vulpes strode past me, gesturing for me to follow, that I was finally able to move.

"Ah, yes, Arcade," Caesar spoke when I had my back turned. In through the door came the physician-slave, blonde head held high but shoulders slouched, as if they carried a heavy burden. Behind him was the Legionnaire that yelled at me not to long ago, with a scowl still wide on his face. "Come. Sit."

Arcade didn't move until his guard prodded him with the butt end of his shotgun. When he walked past me, he shot me a look that said "_You lucky sonofagun!_"

I glanced over my shoulder to see Caesar pushing the Legionnaire to his left out of his chair, and Arcade taking his place. "What do you think of technology?" Caesar asked him nonchalantly, gazing off into the distance.

"Technology must be used when needed," Arcade said stiffly. "After all, guns were once deemed 'technology', as well as Power Fists, and your anti-technological camp seems to use them quite profusely."

"After—what is it now—four discussions on this topic, I believe I'm starting to see your point."

A daunting feeling fell into the pit of my stomach as I followed Vulpes out of the tent flap. _Legionnaires with __**technology**_. Hoo boy.


	4. Chapter 4

My new tent was near the front, and I had to face a rather awkward march in front of all the crucifixion crosses lined up in a row before we reached it. It was probably intended; one of those "make sure you don't screw with us" things.

There were lots of people on the crosses—more than I expected. Some had clothes, some were stripped nearly bare. Most of them looked exhausted; some of them looked dead. One of them was murmuring to himself, looking up at the skies through thick sunglasses that I'm sure the other Legion-dubbed 'degenerates' envied him for.

"_Carla, please forgive me for what I've done. Besides, you would hate it here anyways._"

"Hey, baldie," interrupted the man on the cross next to him. He was fully clothed in a stylish checkered suit, and his hair looked like it had once been well fashioned with gel, but was now falling around his face in exhausted strands. "Can it, you dig? You've been talkin' 'bout your hot broad ever since you ring-a-ding-dang up on this party. Honestly, baby, it's getting old."

"It's my death, Chairman." The man in the sunglasses was blunt, his voice coarse. Judging by his beret, he used to be an NCR sniper. "I spend it the way I want."

"Hey, don't let me crowd your style, baby," nonchalantly retorted the man in the suit. "But I'd like to spend my last dying breaths in silence, which your cutesy little mantra isn't exactly helping, you dig?"

"Yeah. I dig." He dropped his voice down to the same whisper as before and continued anyway. "_Besides, Carla, you'd hate it here anyways. Our child would have grown up in a hell hole._"

Vulpes was far in front of me, as I had gotten caught up in the conversations of the people nailed to the makeshift crosses. I trotted a little faster to make it back to his side, pretending that I had been there the whole time.

"Don't worry," he said, and I was surprised by the smooth, angelic echoes of his voice. His dull hairstyle really threw me off, and I had expected more of a deep, brute-like voice. His face kept looking forward with a calm air, making him seem more leader-like and intimidating. "You won't be lashed to a cross like the rest of these degenerates. As long as Caesar has good use for you, you will remain alive and well protected. And Caesar will have good use for you for a very, very long time."

Something about the reassurance made me gulp in fear. "Do I get to keep the steaks that I stole, then?" I asked.

"Do what you wish with them. You _did_ work for them, even though your 'work' was an infiltrating theft. It was still more effort than any other soldier has exerted for them."

_I'll give some to Arcade, then,_ I thought, figuring he wouldn't get to eat very much. _Then, maybe some of the girl slaves running about. They probably deserve some too._

Vulpes gestured to the tent that I was to call home, and I ducked my head to step inside. It had no door flaps of any sort, and the thought of a slave having better living quarters gave me slight envy.

"Keep whatever is in the chest," Vulpes added mildly. "It will be of little use to the soldier now."

Giving Vulpes a dismissing nod, I wondered if that meant the soldier was dead, or about to be dead. It was kind of a morbid inheritance if it were so.

Once Vulpes left me to my own devices, I ventured right out of the little camp and headed back to the people on the crosses. I wasn't sure exactly what else I was supposed to do, besides root through the chest the previous resident had left me, and I figured that I could do that later.

The man in the sunglasses was still chanting his mantra of sorrow to Carla, and the man in the suit beside him looked as if he had given up trying to convince him to stop.

"Either I'm seeing doubles, or old Baldie is hiring a few hot Vexillarius broads," the suited one mused.

"I'm the same from earlier," I said simply. "Lydia is the name."

"And rootin' is the game, I take it? How heavy is that flag on your back? Obviously not enough to drag you to the ground, or some soldiers would be plowing fields all over you." I couldn't understand what he was trying to say at all. I didn't speak Chairman. "Old Baldie isn't exactly the type to go around hiring the opposite sex, you dig? Chances are, you're here for something a little bigger—like those rocks the girls with the nice charlies are carryin' around, if you catch my drift."

I ignored him. "Do you guys want steak?"

"Yeah, I'd like steak," the Chairman answered quickly. "I'd like to sit down at a nice table with a few hot broads to eat it with, too. Though, chances are that you wouldn't be able to ring me up with a deal like that, would ya, doll?"

"Yeah, I don't know how to hook you up with a table, or hot broads," I answered awkwardly. "I do have steak, though. Six of them. Want one?"

The NCR sniper looked gruffly down at me, and said bluntly, "No."

"What he means to say, pussycat, is that it's a little pointless to keep eating when you're humiliated on a cross day by day. Why keep living in this cruel world, anyway, hm?"

"I have someone waiting for me too," the soldier said.

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Boone, eat the steak," called a familiar voice behind me. There was Arcade, trudging towards me, unguarded for once. His hair was in disarray and his lip displayed a new bruise. I wondered what Caesar—or his men, I suppose—had done to him.

"Why?" the soldier—Boone, I take it—asked bluntly.

"Just trust me, and take what is being offered to you. At the very least, take some healing powder," Arcade snapped back. "It'll give you more strength to support your own weight on the cross, so I don't have to watch you slouched over like that."

"So this is for your entertainment, then? Don't want me to give out before my crucifixion satisfies you?"

"Oh, fortu-," Arcade sighed angrily. "You know perfectly well that I didn't choose to be a slave. I just don't want to see a full man cry, either literally or figuratively—with his posture."

"Ironic," I piped in, "coming from a man with slouchy shoulders."

"Ironic," he repeated, "coming from a woman with a slouchy back."

I knew perfectly well that my posture wasn't very good, so I kept quiet from then on.

"I will accept the powder," Boone said stiffly. "But I will not eat."

"That's good enough for now, I suppose," Arcade sighed, suddenly holding his hand out to me. Realizing that he wanted me to give him some of the bags of powder, I ruffled in my bag, pulled out a sizable one, and put it in his palm.

"On the other hand," the Chairman piped in, "I'll take the steak. It gets lonely without a fresh lump of meat to fill the Ben-man, but I suppose food is good too every once and a while."


	5. Chapter 5

"So what happened to you back there," I asked. "In Caesar's tent, I mean."

"I could ask the same to you," Arcade said stiffly, his legs crossed on the mattress.

"Yeah, well, I don't have bruises all over my face."

Arcade reached up to touch the purple spot on his lip gingerly. After feeding Boone and 'the Ben-man', I had walked Arcade back to his tent, and then stayed a while to visit with him. Something about him gave me comfort, like an old friend. "It was just a scuffle," he said simply. "Something that I said apparently insulted Caesar, and the nearest Praetorian deemed it a worthy time to smack me right in the face with his Ballistic Fist. It wasn't on, of course," he added, as if he thought that I would believe that he had survived a full-on punch with one on.

I liked how he pronounced Caesar with the soft 'c' sound. It was a different thing to hear, after all the "Ave, true to Caesar"s that I got while walking around this place. It reminded me of life outside the Legion, before they took over the Dam. "What did you say to piss the guy off?"

"I can't remember," he murmured with his eyes closed, and then laid down on his side, as if exhausted. Smashed against the mattress, his glasses went askew on his face, but he didn't seem to care. "I think of too many insults every day; each one I actually say just gets drowned out by the rest." He opened his eyes to look at me through his crooked glasses. "So what about you? Why aren't you dead yet?"

"I honestly have no clue myself!" I have never felt comfortable sitting cross-legged, so I was sitting skirt-fashion on the ground of his tent. I deemed this position worthy, as I was actually wearing a skirt. Well, it was supposed to be a 'toga', but it was pretty much a tattered short-skirt, with some sports gear piled on top of it. "Caesar brought me in there, he was all like 'oh, here you are, you're going to die!' and I was like 'oh no!' and he was like 'never mind, I'm f*cking with you, you're hired' and then you came along."

"Why do you make your own quotes sound higher than your actual voice?"

"To differentiate my voice with Caesar's low voice," I said simply. "It makes for a more exciting oral story if one can tell the difference between character voices."

"I'll keep that in mind for the next time I tell a story about Caesar," Arcade murmured sarcastically, closing his eyes again.

"What did you do in that tent anyway? Just talk?"

"Yes."

"About what, technology?"

"Yes."

"The whole time?"

"Yes." He sighed heavily. "He's been debating with me about technology all week. That usually doesn't mean good things are coming, and the thought of the Legion with more advanced technology terrifies me."

"I was thinking the same thing earlier, actually."

"Good! Glad to see that we're on the same page." He rolled over onto his back. I wondered if he wanted me to leave, so he could sleep or something, when he continued, "Why do you bother your time with me?"

"Pardon?"

"Don't 'pardon' me," he grunted, flashing me a glare before returning his exhausted gaze back to the ceiling of his tent. "You know what I mean. Out of all the slaves, you chose to talk to this one. Out of all the slaves that you could have saved from suicide, you chose to save this one."

"It's because," I began slowly, trying to think of something really awesome to say. "It's because you stood out to me more."

"How so?"

"You're dressed in all white," I pointed out. "While the rest of the slaves are wearing burlap sacks with giant Xs painted on them. It was kind of like seeing an angel being beaten by Romans, actually."

"Is that a pickup line?" he asked mildly, then added, "Because I'm gay."

"Well, there went _that_ plan," I said sarcastically with a chuckle. He smiled briefly. It was a good thing to see. "I kind of picked up on the gay thing, back when I confronted you about your 'companionship' with the courier, remember?"

His smile faded immediately. "Yes," he said harshly. "I remember."

Seeing that I struck a nerve, I tried to think of something else to talk about. "You told me something in Latin not long after that. _Mumble, mumble, solum, something something something._"

"_Minus solum, quam cum solus esset?_" He offered. "_Never more alone than when alone_, is what that means."

"Oh." Interesting. "So, you seemed to care a bunch about Boone's well-being, and yet you were so willing to kill yourself?"

"Boone is a friend of mine," Arcade stated. "I don't like to see my friends die on crosses."

"Then, if he's your friend, then he would feel the same way about you killing yourself, I imagine."

The slave shook his head. "It wasn't a mutual friendship. He was my friend; I was his acquaintance."

"Are you sure? Usually, friendships are mutual—"

"—Trust me, it wasn't mutual. Boone only ever cared about two people in his life: his wife, Carla, and the courier."

"Well, this courier fellow seems like a very friendly guy," I grumbled.

"Yes," Arcade answered with a sudden wave of grief. "He was."

There was a rustle as the door flap was thrown open. Standing outside was Arcade's usual guard, scowling at us. "There you are. How'd I know you profligates would be together? You, Frumentarii woman. Vulpes is looking for you, outside your tent. Better not keep him waiting." He grinned then, a devilish stretch of his mouth to bare his teeth.

I shot Arcade a look that I hoped said '_I feel for you, dude, but I got to go_', but I didn't even think he was paying attention.


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks to all of you guys that have actually gotten this far. I love you!

* * *

"Might I ask where you were?" Vulpes asked mildly. His voice was gentler than the harsh tone I had expected, yet still insistent.

"I was with the physician-slave," I answered. I didn't really feel like lying to this guy.

"Be careful with whom you place your friendship in," the soldier mused before turning, gesturing for me to follow. "You'll find that Mr. Gannon has ties that you would not prefer to be involved with. Not to mention, the hundreds of soldiers willing to attack you if Caesar gives the word, and Caesar _will_ give the word if he deems necessary."

I gave him props for being the only person in the world to say 'whom' casually in a sentence.

"So, what now?" I asked as we walked by the crucified soldiers again. The 'Ben-man' actually looked like he was taking a nap, while Boone was still staring at the sky from under his sunglasses.

"We're testing you in the arena. Be honored; no women are allowed to fight in the arena."

_Oh, goody. Gladiator battles._

"I don't have any weapons worthy of fighting," I told him, showing him my empty palms.

"You will be given a machete and new armor to wear—"

"—I would prefer my own armor—"

"—Technically, the armor isn't yours—"

"—It is now!"

I was expecting for Vulpes to set his jaw in irritation, but he continued to watch me calmly with his emotionless black eyes, as if he was used to such behavior, which I doubted. "The Gladiator Armor is required, to set up the fairest fight possible. Women are not allowed to fight in the battles, but your fights will not be made public to any but Caesar."

"No pressure, then."

"Caesar will judge on your fighting," Vulpes continued. "If you fight well, you will be officially assigned to a special mission. If not, then you will already be dead, and no longer our problem."

_Oh, joy._ The pit where the battles were held was looming over us now. It was directly below the hill to Caesar's tent, and I noticed while peering over the top of the metal Coliseum that 'old Baldie's' throne was waiting for him in the best view possible.

A legionnaire was posted outside, holding what I supposed was my machete and armor. When he and Vulpes locked eyes, the legionnaire nodded curtly out of respect with an intimidated mutter of "Ave."

Taking the armor and blade from the soldier, I asked Vulpes, "Got any advice?"

Vulpes turned to walk away, answering rather bluntly, "No. That would be cheating."

* * *

The crowd raised their voices in a roaring thunder of approval. They all peered over the edge of the stone Coliseum from their seats to shout down bellows, either throwing their "thumbs down" response at me or pumping their fists in the air, ready for a full-on battle. Caesar sat in his throne, overlooking the battlegrounds in the best view possible, lazily gazing at all the people before crying, "Release the Lion!"

The bars of the cage opened, and a thunderous roar echoed through. I could almost feel the heat of the breath on my skin, and almost smell the rotten odor that clung to it. The hair on my neck prickled up as the Lion stepped out, crouched, ready to pounce—

I paused and bit my lip. These fantasies of actual gladiator battles weren't doing any good for calming my nerves. I had hoped to obtain some sort of last-minute battle strategies from them, but every time I started imagining one of them, I got so freaked out I had to stop.

My only tactic was to run for my life when things got ugly. I was more a type for large energy weapons, or oversized bumper swords, or sledge hammers. Big things that made me feel powerful were my forte. Not little machetes in a little arena that would test my worth—or bring me to my death, whichever came first.

I was on the inside of the arena, waiting for "old Baldie" to take his seat and call for my opponent. He was taking his sweet, sweet time. Maybe he was knitting a quilt. Somehow, imagining the mighty Caesar with a pair of razor sharp knitting needles only made my nausea increase.

_There he was!_ He stepped out of his tent, flanked on either side by a pair of Praetorians—my only audience. When he reached his throne, he plopped down and leaned back, a glazed look in his eye. He glanced down in the arena, then back up to his Praetorians, and then to Vulpez, who was striding up the hill to meet him. Caesar leaned towards him as the frumentarii whispered something in his ear.

"Vulpez tells me you should fight our Ranger, to get it all over with," Caesar projected his voice down to me. "It would definitely save us some time, I do admit."

I wondered if I should answer, though anything I would have said would have been cowardly. _If I give you my word that I'm a good fighter, would I still have to do this? Hehe…_

I saw Caesar nod to the fellow at the gate, who I imagined was getting "our Ranger" situated in his armor. I wiggled in my own; it was too loose in the stomach area but too tight in the chest. Man armor. Though, the Vexillarius armor that I had been wearing was built the same way. It was just more comforting; something about having a flag on my back made me feel cooler than I was. If I was wearing that armor again, equipped with a nice, sizeable plasma caster, _then_ I could kick some serious Ranger butt.

The gate opened, startling me. Inside was pushed a figure clad in the same armor as I, clutching to a little machete. He looked at me through hazy eyes, clouded with a motive that I didn't know about. Maybe he had been promised his freedom if he killed me. That was probably the case.

The Ranger limped forward with a staggering stride, heavy on the right. He twirled the handle of the machete in his hands, contemplating the sound it would make when it slit my throat.

"H-hey, buddy," I stuttered quietly, taking a step back as the gate closed behind him. I could see that talking him down was pointless, but my heart was locked in a small box in my chest, pounding on the sides, trying to break out. I always calm down when I talk to someone—usually myself, but how far in this battle would I get if I started telling myself it was okay? At the very least, I could see how he responded to me and try to calculate his movements. "Maybe we could just talk about—"

I was cut off by my own squeal as the Ranger lunged suddenly into a full-on sprint. Machete raised high over his head, he let out a loud, bellowing war cry. Out of habit, I lifted my own to parry, but realized my situation just in time to jump out of the way. Running in the opposite direction, I started trying to pull things together.

I wasn't wielding a bumper sword. I had a machete. Just a machete. I couldn't block with a measly machete.

_Strike at his leg,_ I thought suddenly, remembering his heavy limp as he walked in. He didn't have the limp now, charging full-speed, but the leg could very well still be in pain if it was given a good kick.

Sliding to a stop right in front of the towering metal walls, I wheeled to face my attacker to find that he was much closer than I thought. His breath was at my throat, his teeth bared, and his machete rising for another swing. Praying to all the gods that have been preached at me on my way across the Mojave, I lashed out my booted foot to his right knee.

It held fast.

His arm arced to finish me off. Time slowed, and I could see his brutal expression. His eyes glinted with a thousand emotions—I could read them all—rage, jealousy, longing, sympathy. From over his shoulder, I noticed that I had obtained another member in my audience.

Arcade.

He looked as if he had just stumbled in on the scene out of curiosity. His expression was unreadable. I realized that if I were to perish there, right then, then I would just be one of many incompetent people that can't even keep their promises.

I gritted my teeth—

—and aimed another kick, higher this time. The Ranger dropped his machete and fell to his knees, clutching at his freshly beaten manly parts. Snatching his machete from the ground, I gave his groaning body a smirk. "Womanhood, bitch!" I announced proudly. "That's what you get for having balls, Ranger."

I raised both machetes triumphantly, ready to give him the same mercy he was about to show me…

… And I stopped. The Ranger was looking at me with wide, black eyes, his brown hair pitifully curled around his face in a river of dripping sweat. He was frightened, terrified, he probably had a family…

Caesar called from his perch, "What, are you waiting for the thumbs down?"

I was panting from the fright and the adrenaline the short burst had given me. Looking up, I saw Vulpes looking down with a blank expression. Arcade looked pale. The two Praetorians were eyeing each other with a look that said _That looked like it hurt._ Caesar was leaning on the arm of his throne, legs spread as lazily apart as he could muster. He looked at me expectantly, and when I didn't move, he started waving me on.

"Go on," he encouraged. "Finish him off." He 'thumbs down-ed' in a desperate attempt to hurry me along.

I bit my lip and looked back to the Ranger. _He was an NCR Ranger,_ I concluded, and in my head, I crafted a little story of his life. He was probably a high-ranking officer. He probably had a wife, and kids. His wife was probably a slave now, and depending on his children's gender, they might be too. All he wanted was his freedom, to go take his wife and his kids somewhere, settle down, and escape all of this madness. This was his chance. This was his only chance, and I just took it away from him with a single kick to the private area. Though seemingly an amusing problem, it was the one blow that tore everything that he knew away from him, everything that he hoped for.

He was gone. He was dead already, from what I had done.

Now, he was just waiting. Waiting for me to hold true to my victory, to kill the outer shell of him that was still breathing.

"Looks like your underling can't even kill a rabid bastard," Caesar grumbled to Vulpes.

The Ranger looked away from me, to the ground. "Just do it," he hissed. His voice was strained, but accepting. "Just finish me off now, or they'll put me on a cross and leave me to die."

That was true. If I didn't kill him, he would be hung with Boone and 'the Ben-man', too deep in their fate to accept any favors for fear it would make them live longer. I bit the inside of my cheek, hating myself for what I was about to do.

I kneeled beside him, dropping his machete out of his reach. "Sorry I kicked you in the balls," I told him, raising my own weapon and printing a target onto his head.


	7. Chapter 7

"Yes, you killed him," Caesar muttered. "But you made a point to squeal like a girl, run like a girl—"

"In case you haven't noticed, _sir_, I _am_ a girl."

"Yes, yes, you are," he grunted. "And you fight dirty."

His throne had been moved back inside his tent, and all the Praetorians inside had apparently caught word of my so-called "battle". They looked at me with contempt and disgust. Not only was I a woman in an army of men, I was a woman that kicked in places that should never be kicked.

"It was self-defense," I objected.

"You're lucky your opponent had the balls to kick," Caesar continued, ignoring me. "Had you been fighting a woman, you would have been dead."

"But I wasn't," I pointed out. "The Ranger was a man, so I did what I had to do."

Caesar looked exhausted, whether from arguing with me or simply because he could, I didn't know. He leaned back in his throne and closed his eyes. "Vulpes."

"Yes, sire?"

"You can keep your woman, if you really want her," Caesar grumbled. "Go ahead and fetch Raul. Arcade too; I believe he might enjoy hearing this as well." He opened his eyes, and his face split in a devilish smirk.

Vulpes removed himself from Caesar's side, and strode outside of the tent. The rabid-looking dogs at the front even moved aside where he walked, I noticed.

When he was gone, Caesar cleared his throat, sitting up a little in his chair to look more dramatic. "Tell me, woman. What do you know about the flanking war tactic?"

"The explanation is kind of in the name," I muttered back. "In war, you take some troops, and you flank the enemy."

"And do you know what lies east of the Mojave?"

"Nope."

Caesar put a finger on his cheek, modeling another intelligent pose. I desperately wondered if he did that on purpose. "The Brotherhood of Steel are prevalent in the Midwest," he answered. "They own precious land that we could hold in our grasp: the caves, the prairies. Plenty of open spaces that could be used to establish more camps for my legion to grow and flourish."

Flanking the Brotherhood? Was that what he was going at? "Is the NCR not any of your priority now?"

"The NCR can finish themselves off," Caesar growled. "We won the Battle for Hoover Dam, with ease, I might add. The NCR are no longer formidable enemies. They squeal and run, just as you did in the arena today."

I didn't feel like arguing my battle anymore.

"The mechanic and Mr. Gannon are here, sir," I heard Vulpes call from behind me. Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw a dignified Arcade, standing next to a ghoul sporting a jumpsuit that said 'Miguel'. I figured that his name was Raul.

"Good, very good. Arcade, sit down," Caesar gestured to the seat beside him. When Arcade passed beside me, he flashed me an unreadable look. Raul approached me to stand awkwardly a few feet away, and the stench of rotting flesh filled my nostrils. Caesar looked at all four of us once Vulpes and plastered himself back into the corner next to the throne before continuing. "Meet Raul," he told me simply, gesturing to the ghoul. "You two are going to be very well acquainted. Now, you know perfectly well that the Brotherhood of Steel is a much more formidable foe than the NCR, what with their power armor and high-tech weapons. My old-fashioned Legion troops hardly stand any chance against them, no matter what our numbers, but we need that land, to expand the horizons of our beautiful nation."

"Yes, beautiful is the word," Arcade muttered. Caesar flashed him a warning look before continuing onwards.

"There is a particular tactic that I am willing to try. This flanking tactic that I mentioned," he nodded to me. "If we can flank the Brotherhood from behind—no, if we can start another Legion east of the Brotherhood, and attack them as soon as we declare war, then we can take them out with ease and precision.

"Raul here, I was lucky enough to find on the outskirts of Vegas as my troops swept through. He's a remarkable mechanic, and has been able to fix anything I have asked him to fix. I have asked him to tinker with an abandoned Pip-Boy, to add a contacting device into it so I can communicate with the wearer. And the wearer, of course," he leaned forward, looking at me with a sudden dramatic intensity "will be you."

"Alright, cool," I told him nonchalantly. "So, I get to strap this Pip-Boy to my arm and figure out what civilizations lie beyond the Midwest, to ensure that they will follow the Legion as your loyal subjects; is that what I'm doing?"

"Precisely," Caesar answered.

"Great, great, good to hear. Then, how am I going to get _around_ the Brotherhood, without being, say, caught and interrogated?"

Caesar was unfazed by my hole-poking in his theory. "That's why I called Arcade here, you see. I was sure he would _love_ to hear what else I found as my soldiers were trekking through the Mojave."

Arcade shifted uneasily in his chair, his dignified expression failing as he tried to figure out what Caesar was getting at.

"Jacobstown, a cave southwest of Vault 34, Westside, the old NCR Sharecropper Farms, and Novac, Arcade," Caesar riddled. "Know anything in common with those places?"

It didn't seem to take long for Arcade to figure out something in common. His emerald eyes began to widen and his skin flushed a shade paler than it had been before.

Caesar gave him a minute in silence before continuing, "It didn't take long for the woman to talk after we found her—"

"—YOU BASTARD!" Arcade cried suddenly, leaping up from his seat and throwing his arms back in rage. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER? WHAT DID YOU DO TO THEM?"

Caesar looked genuinely surprised at Arcade's sudden outrage, but composed himself again easily. "After your Enclave friends told me what I needed to know, I had no further use for them."

_The Enclave?_

From Arcade's lips escaped a small sound of his heart breaking, and he stood there, eyes bulging in horror at the composed Caesar in front of him. "You…" he began quietly, his voice cracking. "… you killed them? You killed… Daisy?"

"I haven't seen you so attached to someone since the day you came into my care." The way Caesar said 'my care' as an excuse for slavery made my teeth grit.

Arcade's brows furrowed. "You son of a bitch," he spat.

"I also haven't seen you cuss," Caesar continued mildly. "You usually avoid it if you can."

Arcade's ears were turning red as his fists started to clench. "So, you got what you wanted, huh? And what was that, I wonder? You've never had any interest in technological advances before."

"It doesn't matter about my interests," he responded curtly. "The point is that your Enclave friends gave me an important piece of technology that will assist in turning the tides of this war—a Vertibird—"

"That doesn't belong to you!" Arcade interrupted. His nails were digging deep into his palm now, his shoulders trembling with rage.

Caesar made a blatant point to ignore him. "A Vertibird will transport you and Vulpes outside of the Midwest, so you may correctly complete your duties."

In any normal situation, I would have asked: _And what if I didn't want to?_ but I already knew the answer to that. I was somewhat friendly with Boone and the Ben-man, but I didn't want to spend the rest of my days right beside them on a cross.

"When do I start, then?" I asked grimly instead.

"Now," Caesar answered simply. "Raul, go get the Pip-Boy."

"Right, boss," Raul spoke for the first time in a Mexican accent. "I'll go do that for you, boss."


	8. Chapter 8

"Hey," I broke the silence as I shuffled into the tent. Arcade looked even more pitifully devastated than when I first met him. He was lying in the corner, on the ground, staring at the crease in the fabric that was held together by the pole. His glasses were horribly askew on his face, but he seemed too out of it to even notice. I sat beside him, on the bed, but he didn't make any movement to acknowledge me. "Are you okay?"

Of course he wasn't okay, but I wanted him to tell me so. Instead of answering, he flickered his eyes to a new spot on the tent and welcomed his silence.

I didn't know what to say in a situation like this—hell, I didn't even know what was going on—but I knew that I had to say something. "This Daisy fellow… she must have been very important to you."

He drew in a deep breath, and let it out in a strained exhale. "She was the only woman in my life after my mother died," he said at last, still observing the spot he had spaced off to. "She helped to care for me. She displayed more compassion to me than any other of the Remnants. Must have been a motherly instinct."

"Well, you just came out of the womb knowing you were gay, then," I informed him, hoping to get a smile, or a chuckle for my efforts.

Instead, Arcade just moved his gaze to a new spot. "Yeah, I suppose you could put it that way."

I started fumbling with the Pip-Boy in the enveloping silence, wondering if I could possibly get used to a hulking piece of metal genetically strapped to my arm for the rest of my life. Now I had to figure out how to use the thing, so every once and a while I would press a button or two to observe what noise it made. "You never told me you were with the Enclave," I said mildly. Honestly, I didn't care much, but it was the only thing I could think of to say.

"You never asked," he shrugged. He broke his intense gaze with the wall to roll onto his back and look at me.

"You never gave me any reason to ask."

"There you go." He swallowed with considerable effort, as if his throat was dry. "You didn't need to know, so I didn't tell you."

"Just telling you right now, it wouldn't have changed my opinion of you."

"Wouldn't it, though? If you knew you were talking to a previous member of the Enclave—"

"You're not with the Enclave anymore," I pointed out. "I would still be talking to a slave. A very smart, devilishly handsome slave."

He narrowed his brows and squinted his eyes with confusion. "Devilishly handsome?"

Seeing as how I was slowly bringing him up out of his shell, I completely ignored his desire for an explanation. "Want to come with me to give the Ben-man another steak?"

"His name is just Benny, you know," Arcade told me. "And why would I need to accompany you?"

"You convinced Boone to take a bag of healing powder," I pointed out. "I have two more."

"Man cannot live on healing powder alone," Arcade sighed.

I shrugged. "Still better than nothing."

Arcade stared at me for a while, just like he had stared at the wall not too long before.

"Tell me, Arcade," I murmured. "How… intimate was this 'friendship' you had with Boone?"

Arcade swallowed again, and broke his gaze. "Well… um, I wasn't… I wasn't into him like _that_, if that's what you're getting at."

"Too busy being head-over-heels with the Courier, then, I take it?"

Another swallow. "Yep. Besides, he had a wife."

"Doesn't mean that he can't be—"

"—no, no. He had a wife, he loved her very much, he's not the type to change, I was just an acquaintance." He cleared his throat awkwardly, pushing up his glasses that had been slipping down his thin nose. "And plus, underneath that hat, he's bald."

I laughed, and the uneasiness lifted somewhat. "Bald can be beautiful though!"

"Sure, bald can be beautiful to other people, just not to me!" He displayed that smile again, and his face immediately lit up for that fraction of a second that the gesture lasted. "But yes, I'll go with you, I suppose. Who knows, maybe this time I can convince Boone to sprout wings and fly clean off of that cross."

"You should try that," I told him. "I'm sure that would work with flying colors. See what I did there? '_Flying_ colors'."


	9. Chapter 9

When Arcade and I arrived, I noticed two things. First was the fact that Benny looked about dead up there; his face was pale and his head was slumped in defeat. The second was that Raul had joined their trio—on the ground, of course—and looked as if he had been chatting with Boone for quite some time.

"—is not as bad as you might think," Raul was telling him in that gruff ghoulish accent.

"Easy for you to say," Boone grunted back. "You're not hanging on a cross."

"You're right, Boone, because I didn't spit in the Legate's eye."

I cleared my throat, making my presence known. Raul pursed his lips in an awkward face as I drew near and took a step back, as if he felt he was intruding all of a sudden. "Back with more steaks," I nodded to Boone.

Benny groaned. "Woman! Just let me die, will ya?" It was quite obvious that he wasn't having the best of days. "I've been staring at the sun, listening to mantras and pity parties. I can't seem to put my finger on how I'm not blind or deaf yet."

"I've been staring at the same thing, listening to your yapping in my ear about my mantras," Boone growled back in a warning tone.

"It's different, baby, you've got sunglasses."

"I won't be around for much longer; you can die then," I told them bluntly.

Raul shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat to interrupt. "Is the Pip-Boy comfortable on you, boss?"

"I suppose," I answered grimly. "Considering as how it's a giant hunk of metal strapped to my arm."

"You'll get used to it, boss. They all do." He smoothed out the creases in his jumpsuit. When he had been tinkering with the Pip-Boy to get it onto my arm, I had asked him why the jumpsuit said 'Miguel' on it. He had given me an exasperated poker face and replied, 'Why, probably because it used to be Miguel's.' He moved awkwardly, as if he was frightened or spooked, but he always had a certain sarcastic twinkle in the dull, lifeless ghoulish eyes of his. I gave him props for keeping the moustache with all the rotting flesh, as well. "I didn't exactly get to say hello to you, did I, Arcade?"

Arcade's gaze softened with familiarity, but his expression remained grim. "Hello."

"Hello indeed." He shifted again, as if he had something else that he wanted to say, but he clamped his lips tightly together and remained silent.

"This ghoul has been trying to get me to see the light in the situation, Arcade," Boone spoke up gruffly. He shifted on the cross, as if exchanging his weight by rolling his shoulders. "I kind of hoped that you would come, if only to scare him off."

"Boone, you know I wouldn't scare Raul off—"

"Of course you wouldn't. He's your Legion pet, after all." If Benny was in a bad mood, Boone was pissed. "I've seen feral dogs running amok in the camp, and now I get to observe a ghoulish dog."

"You can't seem to get it into your thick skull that we didn't want to be here either," Arcade snapped back. "It wasn't exactly my childhood dream to be a slave in the Legion. Raul just got caught up in all that's been happening and—"

"Just like how you got so caught up with the Courier while everything else was happening—"

"_Stop interrupting me, Boone!_" Arcade lowered his voice to a sort of growling tone. "If I could have done anything different, I would have. If I could do anything different now, I would."

"On that note, boss," Raul piped in, talking to me. "I believe that you and I need to speak somewhere private as soon as possible, but, seeing as how this is the Legion camp, I figured that it doesn't take much to spread a rumor."

"I was found out within a day and sent to Caesar, so, yeah, I'd say the Legion isn't the most private place."

"Even so, boss, we need to talk, and we need to talk now, if possible."

"Say what you need to say, baby," Benny joined, wanting to feel included. "Kick us all in the head, help us feel enlightened."

Raul did his best to ignore him and came closer to me, to where the stench of his rotting flesh coated my face like a mask. I swallowed, trying my best not to grimace. "Listen, boss. That stuff that Caesar was saying, about the Pip-Boy having a connection installed…"

"Yeah?"

"I didn't install no connection, boss," he hissed. My eyes widened, and I made to step back in surprise, but Raul grabbed onto the flag displayed on my back, holding me fast in my place. "The truth of that matter is that I hoped that you could help us."

"Help you?"

"Arcade, Boone, and I, we didn't want any of this to happen," he was talking so low that I was naturally leaned in, only inches away from him. In the background, I could hear Arcade snapping at Benny, who muttered back something about pussycats. "Well, Benny too, but we didn't know him too well, you see. The Courier blindsided all of us, and while I didn't care much that the Legion took over, I soon found out that my point of view was wrong."

"You… didn't care that Roman slavers took over the entire Mojave?"

"As long as it wasn't Black Mountain, I thought I would be fine anywhere," Raul answered with a tone of guilt. "Now I see that this is just as bad, if not worse. Back in the Lucky 38—er, the Courier's hotel room, actually, boss—we all got acquainted real well. Arcade, Boone, Lily, Rex, ED-E, Cass, Veronica, and I."

That was a larger sum of people than I had expected. "Where are all of the rest of them, then?"

"Don't ask me, boss. We all scattered after the Courier abandoned us to go do the Legion's bidding. Well, he took Lily and ED-E with him, of course; they cared even less than I did, I think. And Lily is strong. Big girl, she is, especially compared to me, with just my little pistol—the point of the matter is that we don't want to be here. We can't survive here much longer. Boone will die on that cross there, and as soon as it's found out that there isn't any connection between Caesar and your Pip-Boy, I'll be joining him."

"And Arcade will kill himself," I told him.

"Doesn't surprise me much, boss. Arcade was always a mysterious one." He cleared his throat, not wanting to get off of topic again. "I just need to know whether you're going to help us, boss, or if you're going to rat me off to Mr. Fox and have us all killed."

"I already promised Arcade that I would help," I answered, licking my lips and immediately regretting it when I could taste the putrid air. "I just don't see how I could possibly do anything at this point…"

"That's what I was getting to, boss," he said quickly, and I noticed that Boone, Benny, and Arcade had fallen silent. "I was thinking of something boss, but it might be very risky. Could very well get us all killed, boss."

"You've never been one for getting yourself killed, Raul," Arcade hissed, squeezing into our tight huddle.

"Boone is a friend of mine; I don't like to see my friends die on crosses," Raul said, and his words rung awfully familiar. "And you too, Arcade, I like to consider you a friend, or at least a friendly acquaintance. I know that we're all going to die if we don't put our lives on the line."

"Kind of a double edged sword, then," I concluded quickly. Adrenaline was prickling at the back of my mind, excited for whatever danger he was speaking of. "Get killed or get killed. What's your plan?"

"That Vertibird is really just left for the taking," Raul began, and Arcade narrowed his blonde brows. "They don't guard it often. If we could just get Boone down, and make a run for the Vertibird, maybe we could fly it out of here."

"And where would we go after that?" Arcade frowned.

"Anywhere is better than the Legion," Raul answered matter-of-factly. "Well, except Black Mountain. We're not going there."


	10. Chapter 10

Alright, everyone. This is as far as I've got so far. I'll keep working on it, but what with dealing with crazy classes, going to dances, and playing video games, each chapter will come a little slower than you guys might like. I gotta do what I gotta do.

But, hey, at least it's at a point in time when things are getting less depressing. That's always a plus.

* * *

"Your coast is getting a little less clear, pussycat," Benny warned quietly.

"Just tell me in as few words as possible exactly what is going on," I hissed back, holding onto an arm of the cross for balance as I started tugging on the restraints that kept Benny held up in place. "And stop calling me pussycat. It's awkward."

"I'm not one for knowing the rankings of soldiers, pussycat," Benny continued, turning his head to glance at me. His face was shallow and pale—sickly. "But one fellow with a goofy hat is talking to another." He glanced back out to the world. "That other fellow just ran off quick as a lick. Pretty sure he saw us, darling."

"I got one arm done. Boone, bring me right."

Boone grunted and shifted right a few steps. I grabbed onto his beret to righten myself before moving onto tugging on Benny's other restraint. "Why do I have to hold you?" Boone grumbled under his breath.

"Because you're taller than Raul," Arcade answered him.

"You're taller than Raul too."

"I held her when she got you down," Arcade pointed out. "Now I'm _diligently_ working on freeing Benny's legs."

"Why are we taking this guy with us?" Boone continued complaining underneath me. "He had absolutely no positive relation to us."

"I'm not going to leave a well-dressed man on a cross to die when we can save him," I muttered. "And besides, maybe he can provide us with some comic relief on our trip to goodness knows where."

"If you want comic relief, you could just dress Raul up like a clown. I'm sure you'd get a kick out of that."

"I'm sure you're speaking from experience, Boone," I chuckled.

"We have trouble, we have trouble!" Benny said suddenly, squirming.

"Hold still, Damnit!" I hissed, willing my fingers to work faster. They fumbled, but managed to free his other arm at the same time that Arcade freed his legs. Benny fell into Raul and Arcade's expecting arms, and I looked over the top of the cross at the so-called 'trouble' that we had.

A decanus was visible behind an approaching wall of prime and recruit legionnaires. I couldn't see anything of his face from as far as I was, and even if I had been closer I wouldn't have been able to see his face, but I knew he was smirking. Probably thinking: _Finally, an excuse to slaughter that woman soldier that thinks she's better than me._

Boone dropped me on the ground, and I ran up to Arcade, thrusting a small piece of metal into his hands. "Here!"

He observed the object in his hand, confused. "My scalpel? What am I supposed to do with this?!"

I glanced around him at the nearing soldiers. "Um, defend yourself! Deflect some bullets with it!" I pushed him into the direction that Raul was scuttling off to. "Just run!"

A blast whizzed past my ear, and my stomach immediately tied itself into a knot. I willed my legs to move, move, move!

Benny was even further ahead than Raul, somehow. I was certain he didn't even know where he was going, just running in a general direction that didn't threaten his life nearly as much. According to Raul, the Vertibird was on the other side of the camp—a daring run, but it would be so worth it if we could just reach it!

Ahead, Raul called for Benny to take a right, and the checkered suit obliged. I could hear the clanks of armor other than my own, as if the Legion soldiers were already breathing down my neck. I cursed my lack of agility, and pleaded Atom and Mars and all other gods in the universe to give me the strength to go faster.

There was a flash of red, and I saw Arcade stumble. Using my inertia to urge him back up, we continued on, practically side by side. He was considerably slower, panting heavily and grimacing, and I noticed that the flash of red was a stain appearing on his thigh, seeping through his lab coat. "You've been shot!" I cried in horror.

"The perception is strong with this one," Arcade grunted sarcastically. "I'll be fine… just… that Vertibird better be closer than Raul said it was."

"Wholesomely agreed," I told him in-between heavy breathing. Instead of that strength I asked for, I was getting tired.

"This way, boss!" I heard Raul call, and he ducked into a narrow entryway. Putting an arm around Arcade's shoulders, I pulled us both in after him.

"We should turn back," I suggested, trying to add humor to lift our spirits. Perhaps if our spirits would lift, we could run faster, which was all that I cared about. "I'm sure we could take them, Spartacus style. THIS. IS—"

"—A BAND OF MISFITS," Arcade finished. "Stop talking, just keep going." I obliged, but he was leaning more and more onto me, dragging us both down.

Looking up, I saw the most beautiful sight.

It looked like a bug, arched, ready to attack, with six legs on the ground and wheels for feet. Its wings loomed high over us, the propellers still and covered with rust. The door was open for us, and there wasn't a soul standing around it.

"Raul," I called with a sudden daunting feeling. "You… do know how to fly this thing, right?"

He looked back at me nervously. "No, boss. I only maintain it."

_Oh, great…_ "Well… Boone—"

"Does it look like I know how to fly one of these?" he growled back.

I thought that he very well could have; he was tall, buff, and experienced-looking. With my last hope of getting out of the Legion camp alive, I glanced at Arcade.

"I only know the basics," he told me frankly.

My eyes widened, and I pushed him ahead of me, into the open door of the flying machine. "GET YOUR SWEET, SWEET ASS IN THERE!"

He tensed with confusion. "My… sweet, sweet ass?"

I leapt in after him, and directed everyone else inside. "Go, go, go!" After Benny had scrambled inside, I took one last look at the barrel of a Legion shotgun aiming for my face before pulling the door closed behind me.


	11. Chapter 11

This chapter is a little long, but there's nothing I can do about that. I had to help Arcade with his leg problem, you know? That took a while.

* * *

The Vertibird let out a deep, rumbling sound as Arcade began to fumble with the controls at the front. Several _clink clank_s could be heard as the Legion soldiers opened fire on the bulletproof metal.

"I hate to rain on your parade, Arc—I can call you Arc, right?—but I think this baby needs to get her sweet ass off the floor."

"I'm working, I'm working," the slave growled, flicking switches one after another. Lights flickered on, enveloping us in welcoming light. _Hey, hey, hey, guys,_ the Vertibird was practically telling us. _Don't worry 'bout a thang, I'm pretty close to being indestructible._ "And no," Arcade added. "You can't call me Arc."

"Your name's too long to say correctly," Benny waved him off, though Arcade was much too fixated on the controls to notice. "Hey, pussycat," he said quieter to me, as a low hum began to coarse its way through the metal beneath our feet. "How come you didn't ask _me_ if I knew how to get one of these honeybuns off the ground?"

I looked at him, astonished for a moment. "You know how to fly one of these?"

"Well, no, but I felt left out that you didn't ask…"

A _clunk_ rang through the air, and all heads whipped to Arcade, who didn't even give us a glance before replying, "Don't worry; it's just the engine."

"The engine?" Boone grunted. "Are engines usually supposed to make those noises?"

"It's a very, _very_ old Vertibird," Arcade answered, and then fell silent.

The hum vibrated louder and increased in pitch until it roared over the sounds of the bullets that were trying to penetrate the Vertibird's thick armor plating. The floor beneath our feet gave a jolt—Boone threw himself against the wall in surprise, while Benny grabbed me (and I grabbed Raul) for support—as the flying contraption lifted itself off the ground. Arcade gave one last sweep of the controls before sitting back in his chair, throwing his hands up in the air with triumph. "Fellas, we have liftoff!"

"I remember just how much I despise flying," Boone rumbled to himself, straightening his sunglasses. When Benny began to snicker, he added, "Who's the one grabbing onto the lady, here?"

Benny immediately stopped his laugh, let go of my arm, and backed up a few steps. I was reminded that I was holding a figure of rotting flesh and let go of my support as well. Clearing my throat and dusting myself off, I tried to maintain my cool. "So, Boone… what's so bad about flying?"

"I don't like it when the ground vibrates beneath me. Usually means that I picked a wrong place to camp, and I'm about to be run over by stampeding brahmin." He sniffed, as if also trying to maintain his cool, and sat down on the floor with his back to the wall. "Also, you know that feeling you get when you feel like you're gonna throw up?"

"Um… yeah?"

"I always get that feeling while flying."

"Well, I'm Arcade Gannon," he began lightheartedly, swiveling in his chair to face us. "And I don't like being shot in the leg. Speaking of which… see any medical supplies over there?"

"Oh, Atom," I gasped. "I totally forgot that you've been shot… Are you okay?"

"Well, I've been shot," he answered bluntly. Then, for a better explanation, he added, "My adrenaline has been masking any pain that I'm supposed to be feeling, but my 'golden hour' of treatment is quickly wasting away. Like I said, what do I have to work with back there?"

"I found a wrench," Boone said, holding up the tool that had been lying beside him.

"I still have healing powder," I said quickly, moving towards him. "Oh, and steak too, though I don't think that would do much good."

"Better than nothing, better than nothing," Arcade murmured, gesturing for me to come closer. "Alright, Lydia, you're going to help me out, okay?"

I nodded, feeling my breath getting short as I saw that the blood has continued to seep through his clothing, creating a sizeable blotch on his thigh. I could feel my stomach immediately clenching itself, filling with butterflies. "You're… sure it doesn't hurt?"

"It hurts now," he told me, then caught on to my uneasiness. "It's all right; I'll be fine. Now, get out your healing powder, alright?"

I pulled out the two bags that I had left, holding them out to him.

"Ah, boss? Is someone supposed to be steering this thing?" Raul called nervously from the back.

Arcade started to slide himself off of the chair, muttering something about an autopilot. Where he could have possibly directed the autopilot, I didn't know. "Alright, Lydia," he whispered a little louder. "Come sit down with me, here."

I obliged, setting the bags of powder beside him.

"Now, I'm going to take off my pants, so you can get to the wound better. Can you handle that?" His tone was quickly losing its energy, but was still layered with humor.

I was trembling now, and didn't quite know if the nod I gave was voluntary or not. We were flying goodness knows how far above the earth, with our only experienced doctor shot, bleeding, and in pain, and only two bags of healing powder to do anything with. He looked at me, and his emerald eyes were calm, but his face was losing what little color it had.

As he started to fumble with the button of his pants, I began to stutter. "Wh-why can't Boone do this instead?"

"Because," he answered calmly. "He's about to barf over in the corner—look at him, he's green."

"Then… then Raul—"

"—is a mechanic. He works with machines: lifeless things. He has no sympathy or compassion." He was talking very quietly, and I couldn't tell if it was his energy failing or if he was trying not to hurt Raul's feelings. "One needs a certain level of affection to do this kind of thing."

I gave a nervous laugh. "And you think I have the affection?"

He smiled at me then, a sort of sad smile, and he reached out to pat me on the shoulder. "In a sense, you brought all of us together, didn't you? You cared enough about me to throw that scalpel to the ground. That's affection." With the other hand, he finished with his pants and started to pull them down, displaying the blue shorts that all residents in the Mojave seemed to find as attractive undergarments. "I'll have to say that this was a mighty close call," he chuckled. "If this bullet had landed the same way as your gladiator battle, I wouldn't be cracking any jokes, I'll tell you that right now."

I could tell that he was trying to get me to feel less nervous—perhaps because he was afraid that I would hurt him more with my trembling hands, but that thought just made me feel even worse.

"Help me take the lab coat off," he ordered softly, and I shuffled behind him. His movements were awkward and wrong, and I was doing most of the work, but eventually I managed to remove the white fabric from around his shoulders and set it on the ground, beside him. "Good, good," the physician praised weakly. "Now, take this back." He gave me the scalpel that I had thrust into his hands during our escape. "Cut off a sizeable chunk from the coat to use for bandages."

It felt wrong to cut anything from the coat, like I was intruding on a beautiful masterpiece, even though it was stained already with dirt, dust, and blood. I tore off a few strips with the help of the small blade, and began to wrap them around his leg. His skin was shockingly cold, and as soon as I touched him, he frowned and lied on his back.

"Elevate my legs a little bit… and… apply pressure to the wound. Yes, like that."

"Benny, get over here," I called over my shoulder, and he hobbled uneasily closer. "Hold his legs here. Right there. Raul, do you see anything like a blanket back there?"

There was the sound of scuffles behind me, and I draped Arcade's coat over him in a pitiful attempt to warm him up. His eyes were closed, and I didn't know whether he was awake or not. I imagined that he was falling into shock, and my pulse quickened as I remembered story after story of some poor soul trekking around the Mojave and perishing of shock from something or another.

"I found parachutes," Raul piped back somewhat cheerfully. Glancing back, I saw him pulling out a few backpacks.

"Oh, perfect," Arcade murmured in the same tone. I was so relieved that he was not unconscious quite yet. He just sounded exhausted—very much so. "Lydia, how's it look?"

I was definitely not a medical expert, but I was pretty sure that the blood flow was slowing considerably. Feeling my trembles decreasing and my butterflies fleeing my stomach somewhat, I answered back, "Pants on the ground, pants on the ground. Lookin' like a fool with your pants on the ground."

"I'll take that as a reassurance, I suppose," he said slowly, confused. "Now, just throw some healing powder on it, and give me that other bag to chew on. Good God, I wish we had stimpacks. This stuff tastes like chalk."


	12. Chapter 12

Coming up with original Benny dialogue is difficult... I don't speak Chairman...

* * *

"Maybe we should open a window for you, Boone," Raul suggested with a dry, throaty chuckle that was common with most ghouls.

"Something tells me that it would only make matters worse." If Boone had been green when Arcade had pointed him out, he was as truly emerald as the doctor's eyes now. He remained in the same place he had been since takeoff, clutching at his knees and leaning against the wall for comfort. I had offered a steak to him, but he had looked at it like it was rotted and coated with worms—which, of course, contributed greatly to his sickly complexion.

Arcade had passed out soon after having his leg patched up, and he now rested on the floor, with his head on a parachute bag as his only means of a pillow. His pants were up again, as well, and Benny was still trapped underneath his lengthy, injured leg, sprawled out beside the doctor, running his hands through his hair in attempts of making it look normal again.

I kept pacing back and forth between where Raul and Boone sat making small chat about Boone's tragic condition and the controls at the front that were always lit up. Both Benny and Raul had told me that it was fine, and that Arcade knew what he was doing when he set it to autopilot, but it still unnerved me to think that I didn't even know where the autopilot was headed and our human pilot remained stubbornly in dream world.

"Pussycat, my leg is giving the ring-a-dings," Benny called to me.

"Okay," I told him, and continued with my pacing. I didn't want to know what ring-a-dings in your leg meant, or what he intended me to do about it by calling me over.

"Hey, doll, come over here and sit with the Ben-man, why don't you?"

"Maybe," I growled at him "I would be more inclined to sit with the Ben-man if he would stop calling me cutesy pet names like 'pussycat' and 'doll'."

He struggled to prop himself up on his elbows to get a better look at me. His hair did indeed look better, but it was still missing the luster and shine that he probably kept with over-styling it in various hair gels and sprays. "What's wrong with pet names?"

"Well, 'doll' isn't so bad," I admitted. "It's the 'pussycat'. Every time you call me 'pussycat', I think of… well, I think of a whore."

He looked surprised at me, though if it was genuine or forced, I couldn't quite tell. "Hey, baby, I ain't a fink enough to call a hot broad like yourself a whore. Not deliberately, at least. Whether or not you take it that way is not my fault."

"And there's the 'hot broad' one too," I grumbled. "I don't dance on street corners to advertise the Atomic Wrangler, you know."

"I wasn't implying such a thing," he claimed, and his voice sounded forced. I wondered if I was imagining it. "You are incredibly easy to shake and bake, baby, you need to stand yourself taller."

Reluctantly, I sat beside him. He gave me a look that said, _oh, look who decided to change her mind_. I could feel my face flushing. "I don't speak Chairman, though, so a translation would be nice."

"Translate it any way you want it, honey, I ain't doing a thing." Despite his somewhat curt statement, he flashed me a cheeky smile. "Now, _doll_, do your ol' uncle Ben-man a favor and hold the doctor's legs for me. The ring-a-dings in my legs have been going on for the past seven hours, or goodness knows how long, really."

"What the hell are ring-a-dings in your legs?"

He licked his lips and shifted his weight to one elbow, so he could demonstrate shaky movements with his hand. "When your leg, you know, starts to ring-a-ding."

I stared at him with a blank for a few moments of silence. "You mean pins and needles?"

"Call it what you will, darling, they're ring-a-dings and my leg can't stand 'em much longer before they turn black and blue." He smiled, gesturing to his checkered suit. "And, well, blue isn't much of an unflattering color on me, but with no legs, I'm afraid I'd slow all of you down." He moved then to shift Arcade's legs.

"Ah," I said suddenly, stopping him. "I… don't want to wake him or anything."

Exasperated, he rolled his eyes at me. "Pussycat, you've been waiting for him to wake up ever since he went to sleep."

"Yeah, but—"

"Just take his legs, doll." With a heave of effort, Benny casually threw the slave's legs onto my own. Arcade shifted, but remained otherwise asleep. Benny squirmed away, and flopped back down onto his back. "My legs hurt, doll, they do. I feel almost as bad as the time I experimented with Fisto down at the Atomic Wrangler, and that's saying something."

"You slept with the sexbot?" I asked in disbelief.

"I lost a bet, baby, it happens," Benny growled at me. "Let me tell you, the mental shock was twice as bad as the physical shock, and my legs were giving the ring-a-dings for a week and then some. '_Numbness will subside momentarily'_ he told me; ain't that a kick in the head!"

"Wow, that's incredibly tragic," I told him sarcastically.

He propped himself up on his elbows again, raising an eyebrow at me. "And what about you, doll, you find any boys—or sexbots—or girls—to sleep with yet?"

My eyes widened, and I could feel my face flushing. "I-I don't feel obligated to tell you anything about my sexual life," I stuttered.

"Girlie, you must think I'm 41 flavors of stupid to think that I'd let you get away without giving something in return for my juicy tale."

"I never asked you to give your juicy tale."

"No, I believe you did, honey, when you asked me if I slept with the sexbot."

I bit my lip. He had driven me up a wall. "Well, you see—"

"Ugh, have I been sleeping on this thing the whole time?" interrupted a familiar voice. Arcade had opened his eyes to slits and was lifting his arm to rub at his neck. Opening his eyes a little wider and tilting his head to look at me in confusion, he asked "How long have I been out, anyway?"

At that moment, I dubbed the doctor my new, official bro.

"Who knows?" I shrugged. "A long time."

"Oh," He said and leaned back onto his uncomfortable pillow.

I cleared my throat to get his attention again. "Um, where… exactly… did you set the autopilot?"

"The pussycat's been pacing for a living back here," Benny piped in.

Arcade leaned up again with a frown. "Ah, yes, the autopilot. You see, it was a fixed sequence; Caesar's men must have figured out how to tinker with it."

"Caesar did tell me I'd be riding with Vulpes," I told him. "Maybe the guy's a fast learner."

"Knowing what I do about that hotshot, I'd say that angle of yours is a good one," said Benny.

"But, where is the destination of said fixed sequence?"

Arcade gave an exhausted movement that could have been a shrug of shoulders. "That's the thing," he said. "I don't exactly know where we're going right now."


	13. Chapter 13

"Look out the window," Arcade encouraged. All but Boone obliged. "You see those shriveled black things? Those are trees."

"Arc, I know what a tree is."

"That's an awful lot of them in one spot, though," I continued on Arcade's point that he was trying to make.

"I'd say we're north, then," Arcade concluded. "Either that, or east. Or both."

"Is that green stuff grass?" Raul pointed a desiccated finger out beyond the trees.

"Might be," I told him.

"I've never seen that much grass, boss," Raul commented. "And the grass that I have seen is withered and yellow."

"Look, people," I pointed. Below us shimmered blue metal in a humanlike figure. Whoever it was had decided that the wasteland was a great place to take a stroll.

"I may be crazy, boss, but that armor looks Brotherhood."

"The Brotherhood of Steel?" I answered in disbelief. "Aren't they just… you know, myth and legend?"

"In the Mojave, they are now," Arcade grumbled, moving away from the window to sit on the chair by the controls. His air of depression suggested to me that it was perhaps a matter about the Courier. He fingered with a few of the controls that he could actually mess with—adjusting the temperature, moving the cameras around. On one screen, the figure that I had pointed out now was displayed, looking directly at us. "That's a T-45d model," he commented wistfully. "Albeit, a stronger, more hardened model, but a T-45d nonetheless."

"You can tell that just by glancing?"

He didn't even look at me when he answered, "The shoulder plates are a good tell-tale sign, but really, it's the exposure of the electronic parts that gives it away."

"Always seeing the weakness in the armor, like usual," Raul commented quietly, pressing his face against the window glass to better see directly below us.

"It's habit," the doctor mumbled defensively, and looked at one of the dials next to some flashing buttons. "We're losing altitude gradually. Looks like we're here. Well, sort of." He leaned back, carefully observing the Brotherhood soldier, who was reaching behind his back for something. "Caesar would be very disappointed to learn that there was Brotherhood here too."

At the mention of Caesar's name, my anxious fingers sought out the Pip-Boy on my arm. "I can imagine that he's pissed already as it is."

Arcade chuckled at the thought of Caesar's rage, and Raul turned to confusingly look at the screen with the Brotherhood. "What's the guy doing?" He wondered aloud.

I was wondering the same thing. The figure looked like he was fumbling for something on his back that was heavier than what he was used to holding, or perhaps it was buckled down and he was wrestling it out of its restraints. Finally, with a satisfied heave, he pulled out a huge, bulking hunk of machinery. Arcade's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, trying to distinguish what it was. To me, it looked like a strange gun, the barrel glowing blue, containing some sort of energy.

"Is that… a gun?" Benny asked grimly.

"If it is, it shouldn't hurt us," Arcade soothed, but his voice cracked with uncertainty. "Even the most high-powered missile launchers would only tilt us a little bit."

"Oh, well that's reassuring," the Chairman rolled his eyes, straightening his suit with trembling hands. "We'll get shot at, but it's not big deal. It's the Legion all over again, that's what it is, baby, and hell to the hotshot that suggests I'm going back with another ol' Baldy."

"Relax, Benny," Raul told him sternly, giving him a gentle shove. "You're scaring Boone over there."

Actually, Boone looked better than he had during any other time of the trip. His legs were sprawled in front of him and he was standing straight, slowly regaining his color. Perhaps he was picking up to the fact that we were getting closer to the ground.

Arcade had zoomed up onto the Brotherhood's head, managing to get a closer look at the strange gun. "Whatever it is…" he murmured under his breath. The light in its barrel had been increasing in brightness and intensity, and now looked like it was about to explode.

And then, all of the light was released.

The Vertibird shuddered violently, knocking Raul to the ground. I tripped over him and fell beside him. Looking up, I saw through the vibrating haze that Arcade had fallen and was now clutching for dear life at the controls. The floor tilted, and Benny landed on top of me. Boone had thrown himself against his wall. Arcade was telling himself, "Not possible, not possible!"

My stomach had suddenly flipped and I felt the sensation of falling as the Vertibird went down. Arcade wrestled himself to his feet and looked around at the three of us struggling to get ourselves untangled. He looked to his controls with a sudden longing passion, and another shudder ran through the craft. The doctor grabbed onto what he could to keep himself steady.

"What's going on?!" I called to him, and my voice was drowned in the oncoming wave of a deafening roar from the Vertibird.

He looked at me for a moment, and called back, "Everyone, get a parachute!"

**_A parachute._** A bag was thrown at me from a now standing Benny. His eyes were wild and his hair tousled again. Looking to my left, I saw Raul stumbling to Boone to hand him a parachute too. The doctor was still busy staring at his controls, his knuckles white from trying to hold himself steady.

"Arcade!" Boone cried, catching his attention. "What are you doing?!"

Arcade's eyes were wide with terror but also incredibly sad. "I'm going down with the ship," he said calmly.

"What?! Are you crazy?!"

My heart was pounding in my head now, and I couldn't discern what was happening. Instead, I clutched to the bag that Benny had given me. Arcade was about to answer Boone's call when I interrupted. "I don't know how to use this!"

Arcade's gaze snapped to me, and I looked at him with frightened eyes. It was then that I realized just exactly what he had told Boone, but the words that I had said were the last words my lungs allowed me to give.

I saw him mouth something, but the vibrations and the thunder of the falling Vertibird caused me to clutch to the bag for dear life. I felt hands on my arm, prying it from the parachute. The bag was removed from my custody and those hands pulled me to my feet. My legs shook, trying to get a steady ground, but they didn't get much chance as I was hauled towards the door that Benny had wrenched open.

"Wait!" I shrieked. "My parachute—!"

"I have your parachute," Arcade's voice called behind me. "Don't worry, I've got you."

The wind buffeted my hair about as I looked down on the oncoming ground. Arcade gave me a final push, knocking both of us out of the Vertibird.

We rolled out of the door into immediate free fall.


	14. Chapter 14

As soon as my feet hit the ground, my legs gave out and I collapsed, held upright only by the stumbling doctor behind me. I was trembling and stunned that I had made it out alive at all. A quick glance around told me that everyone else had too.

"Are you alright?" Arcade asked me, slowly lowering me to the ground. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"You… you were going to kill yourself again," I managed to gasp, curling into a fetal position.

He looked at me hesitantly before answering, "Yes."

I reached up a quivering hand to lightly tap at his face. "Shame on you."

"I'm going to take that as a reassurance that you're not hurt."

"No, I'm fine. Just still, you know, recovering from the fact that we only barely escaped dying a horrible death from a crashing Vertibird," I told him gruffly. "A Vertibird that was supposed to be indestructible."

"Just so you know, Gannon," Boone grunted, staggering into view. "I'm not riding in any more of your shitty Enclave toys."

"That's the only one we had," Arcade retorted. "Are you hurt?"

"Do I look hurt?" He adjusted his sunglasses, gazing around at our unfamiliar landscape. "If anyone's hurt, it's Benny. He's heaving his stomach all over the ground."

"I'm quite honestly surprised that you're not," the doctor told him.

"I'm a soldier. Soldiers can handle trivial matters like this."

"Yes, because your ten hour bout of Vertibird-sickness is much more than a trivial matter."

"You were passed out for most of that, might I remind you."

"I was shot. I have a reason."

I sat up, looking for Raul and Benny. Boone was right about the Chairman, he was holding onto the branches of a withered bush, gladly letting everything out into its welcoming refuge. Raul was up and standing on top of a hill, gazing out at what I expected were the remains of our aircraft.

"**STOP, CRIMINAL SCUM!**"

I turned around to find our Brotherhood friend running towards us, plasma rifle drawn and ready to fire—aimed right at Arcade. As the soldier came closer and slowed to a stop, he took up an official pose and jabbed the barrel of his rifle in the doctor's face.

"Enclave trash," he growled through his mask. "Are there any more of your people that survived this?"

I stood, taking a defensive stance by Arcade. "Hey, buddy, he's not Enclave."

"He's not—he's wearing an Enclave Scientist getup—"

I put a hand on the extended rifle, lowering it to the ground. "He's not Enclave. We're from west; he's a Follower of the Apocalypse. A doctor, nothing more."

The Brotherhood relaxed considerably. "You're from west? How west?"

"Pretty far west," I told him. "Over by New Vegas. We were escaping the rule of Caesar's Legion, hoping to find refuge here."

Putting his rifle away, he shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Sorry about the Tesla Cannon shot, then. Your Vertibird had no radio that synched with ours, so I assumed it was an Enclave craft." He gestured over his shoulder, at a huge hulk of rusted airplane parts assembled into walls of a fortress on the horizon. "But you're in luck. Megaton is over that way, not too far. They'd welcome you with open arms, I assure you."

"What did you say shot us down?" Arcade asked him.

The Brotherhood turned to show us the large gun on his back. "Tesla Cannon. The Citadel has so many it doesn't know what to do with them. Oh, and fresh water too. I see you have a Pip-Boy," he said, gesturing to my arm. "I could mark the location of the Citadel on your map. In case you ever need it."

I wasn't sure how marking locations worked, but I outstretched my arm for him to tinker with the thing. His metal gloves were warm to the touch—probably from walking out in the wasteland sun all day. Though, compared to the Mojave, it was cold. Of course, it was actually warm here, but I was so used to the scorching deserts, where the sun beat down like fire.

The Brotherhood pressed a few buttons, jiggled a few dials, and let go of my arm. "There you go," he said. "Once again, sorry about the hostile welcome. But it's a good thing that all of you made it out without too many scratches."

We nodded, almost in perfect unison, and the soldier gave a dismissive wave before turning to walk away.

"What do you think, boss?" Raul's voice appeared over my shoulder. "Should we go to Megaton?"

"Why am I 'boss' all of a sudden?" I sniffed.

"You've always been 'boss', boss. You just now noticed that?" he made a sharp, chuckling sound. "You're much, much slower than I thought originally, boss."

"Gee, thanks," I grumbled. "But seriously, why do you ask me to make the decisions? If you want to go to Megaton, then you can go to Megaton."

"You're the one with the Pip-Boy, boss."

"You don't need a Pip-Boy to walk over there!" I thrust a gesture out towards the fortress. "It's easily a hop, skip, and a jump away."

"I'd say half an hour walk," Boone butted in.

"You should try hopping, skipping, and jumping, Boone," I growled back. "I'm sure it'd get you there much faster."

"But anyways, boss, what I mean to say is that we're used to following the guy with the Pip-Boy," Raul continued. "The Pip-Boy knows all, and we all don't act as leaders besides."

"Yes," Arcade added. "I'm definitely a follower. You might even say 'of the apocalypse'."

"Funny," I told him.

"I'm a leader," Boone grunted.

I waved my arms in his direction. "See! Boone's a leader. I bet he could lead us."

"Oh, I could lead you all right," the sniper agreed. "Though, you don't want to know where I'd lead you."

I stared at him blankly for a second. "Where _would_ you lead us?"

"To Hell," he said simply. "I would probably lead you to Hell."

"See?" Raul said. "Looks like you're our best option for a leader."

"What about Benny?"

"What about me, pussycat?" Benny asked, now entering our group. He was adjusting his pants, like he had just decided to take a whiz in the bush that he had barfed in. "What had that hotshot's thong in a bunch? What he did to our flight machine was 41 flavors of wrong, honey."

"Never mind," I grumbled to Raul. "Yes, yes, we'll go to Megaton. We need a good meal, a rest, someplace friendly to bunker down in for a while. Whoever wants to go on ahead can go; I'm going to stay behind and see what I can salvage from our Vertibird wreckage."


	15. Chapter 15

"Sweet Dannyboys. That's quite a crash," I murmured, gazing over the top of the hill. What was left of the Vertibird had formed its own shallow crater, the impact completely shattering it. Remains from the Tesla Cannon shot was still prevalent in the occasional blue shock of lightning flying through the propellers that were pitifully rotating in the wind. I looked behind me at the three figures walking off towards the metallic Megaton, and the doctor that had hesitated just before the top of the hill.

"I don't want do see this, do I?" He asked sadly.

"No," I answered. "It'll break your heart. But come on, we've got to do this or we won't be able to have any caps to get us a room, or food, or medical supplies." I offered him an outstretched hand to help him up the rest of the hill. Hesitantly, he took it, and joined me at the top.

At the sight, he was speechless. In the reflection of his glasses, I could see the glint of the demolished metal. Desolation swam in his emerald eyes.

"Come on, Arcade, let's go," I encouraged softly, slowly beginning my way down. After a moment, he followed, watching his feet as if afraid he would stumble, but his gait was sure and without fault.

There was plenty of metal that could have been sold as scraps, but each piece looked much too heavy for a physician slave and a girl to carry together. _Maybe we can notify Megaton that it's here, and they can come get it and add it to their airplane walls_.

"This was the only thing left," Arcade said suddenly.

"What?"

He didn't look at me, just at the ruins. "Of Daisy. This was the only thing left. She's… she's dead now and…" he broke off, lowering his head to stare at his boots.

I put an arm on his shoulder, doing my best to be reassuring. Unfortunately, I didn't know what to say. Daisy was obviously very dear to Arcade, and he was right. This was the only thing he had left of her, besides his memories.

He sighed deeply, his shoulders rolling gently with the effort. "There's probably not much here," he said, looking up at me. "Just… telling you right now."

"That's alright. We have to check, though," I slowly answered, and turned away to wade into the ocean of metal shards and broken glass. Behind me, I could hear Arcade hesitantly following.

It was an odd feeling, knowing that only half an hour before we had all been riding inside of the thing. Boone had been queasy in the corner, Raul had been teasing him, Arcade had been sleeping, Benny had been trapped underneath his legs, and I had been pacing back and forth. The Vertibird had been invincible. Resisting all guns, missile launchers, etc. Now, after one blast, it had been ripped apart.

"Wow, look, a teddy bear," I said, catching a glimpse of a patch of synthetic fur trapped beneath a lighter chunk of metal. Pushing it aside, I pulled out the cuddly bear and turned to show it to Arcade. "I wonder if this thing was inside the Vertibird or was just lying here before the thing…" I trailed off as I realized that the doctor was holding something black in his hands.

Walking closer, I saw that his eyes were wide as he turned the object over, inspecting it. It was a helmet—an Enclave helmet, with tesla coils dotting its surface. "This… is my father's armor," he said in wonder. "I know my father's armor anywhere—this is my father's armor. Daisy must have… must have hid it in there in hopes of protecting it." I saw the rest of the armor at his feet, somehow still neatly folded. Arcade frowned grimly, fingering a crease in the top. "It's dented…" He made to put it down when I stilled his hand.

"Keep it," I said.

"Why?" He asked, furrowing his blonde brows. "It's dented—useless. I can't even put it on my head anymore; it'd just be a dead weight."

I looked directly into his emerald eyes, trying to get him to see my side. "It'd just be a dead memory, you mean." When he narrowed his eyes in confusion, I continued, "Leave that helmet here and part of your father's memory will be left here too. I think you've lost enough memory of your loved ones, don't you?"

His shoulders drooped even further than usual, and he fought for words, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. "I… It's… You…" He sighed. "You really think I should keep it, then?"

I shrugged. "Why not?"

He stooped down to pick up the rest of the armor. He held it surely in his hands, familiarly. It looked bulky and heavy, but he found no trouble despite his scrawny arms. Arcade gave a grim chuckle. "Should I wear it, then?"

"Why not?" I asked with a shrug. "Easier way to carry it, anyways."

"Find anything good?" he asked absentmindedly, unfolding the thick, black metal to inspect it.

I held up my cuddly friend once more. "A teddy bear. Though, I think that was already here on the ground when the Vertibird crashed." Arcade seemed too lost in thought to even hear what I had said, so I turned back to gaze out at the rest of the metal ruin while the doctor started slipping his still-booted feet into his treasure. I bit my lip, suddenly feeling an ominous drop in the pits of my stomach. _I was intruding on something,_ I felt. _Like a haunted ghost town. I don't belong here._

I quite almost expected voices to rise from the depths of the propellers, warning me to leave now, but no voice came. After a few moments of frightened silence, I felt a metallically gloved hand on my shoulder, and looked to see Arcade, gazing at me with those sad eyes and his dented helmet under his other arm. He gestured to the teddy bear that I realized I had been hugging tightly.

"Why don't you keep that little guy?" he suggested with the slightest hint of a smile.

"Ha. Should I wear him, then?" I asked sarcastically.

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. "Why not? Easier way to carry it, anyways." His smile filled his face to its full potential for that moment before he cleared his throat and started to wade back into the ruins of the crashed Vertibird. "Come on, maybe one of the parachutes survived the fall. Do you think anyone in Megaton has any use for a parachute?"

"If not," I began, starting to follow him closely. "We could always use it for an extra blanket tonight."


	16. Chapter 16

As we neared the gate to the entrance of the huge, hulking metal fort of Megaton, I noticed two things. The first was the fact that the securitron standing vigilant outside was decorated in a lovely cowboy hat. He greeted us with a happy, "Howdy partner. Welcome to Megaton." The second thing I noticed was the three men sitting dejectedly in a circle, waiting for Arcade and I.

"What's up, guys, did they not let you in?" I asked them.

"Oh, they let us in all right," Boone answered gruffly. "They'd let anyone in, if they had a face."

"Which is a very inclusive field, might I add, boss."

"Yes, yes," I said. "I know, a lot of people have faces. But why are you guys sitting out here if they let you inside?"

"The sleeper wouldn't let us in without the hard dough," Benny riddled in his usual Chairman talk.

"What he means to say," Boone grunted, nudging him a hard fist in the shoulder. At the impact, the Chairman let out a small sound of pain and grabbed onto his now aching extremity. "The owner of the inn wouldn't let us in unless we were willing to pay because he's an ass."

"And the barracks were all full too, boss," Raul added. "We checked."

"And then that dumbass preaching down at the bomb just about had me shoving his head up his own ass," Boone continued.

"I see you're in an ass mood, Boone," I commented mildly. "There are stores, though, right? We found a few things that we could maybe sell to get us a few caps."

"Plenty of 'em, boss; we didn't get too much of a look at them though, what with the shouting of Atom raining fire on all of us." Raul started taking the random things from our arms—the spare parachute, the single propeller we managed to drag, the bits of wire and steel and glass. "Don't you worship Atom too, boss?" he asked me. "I could have sworn I've heard you talk about him before."

"No, I don't worship Atom," I said, feeling a small flush nagging at the sides of my face. "I just say his name every once and a while… I do the same with a lot of other things, like Fancy Lads."

"Are we selling the armor too?" Boone swept the conversation back in order, gesturing to Arcade.

"The armor stays," I said right when Arcade said, "No."

Boone stared at the space between us, his sunglasses masking whether he was looking at both of us or neither of us. After a few moments of stony silence, he muttered, "Right, then," and stood to grab a hold of scrap. "And what about the teddy bear?"

I glared at his accusing, emotionless stare. "No, Boone, my entire lifeline depends on the keeping of this teddy bear. It's a magical teddy bear, with the power to grant me bitter sarcasm."

"For all I know, it could have been the last remaining memory of your long lost cat," Boone snapped back, sending an icy stare in Arcade's direction. The doctor stared right back and readjusted the hold on his helmet. "Atom knows we need memories of everyone's cats—as many memories as we can get a hold of."

As Boone shuffled to the metallic gates of Megaton, Benny stood also and gave me a pat on the shoulder. "The asses are getting to his thinker today, I think," the Chairman reassured.

"Something tells me that he doesn't like cats," I grumbled, beginning to follow the sniper. "Benny, are you keeping track of a list yet? Add cats to the list of things that Boone hates."

"Do I look like a secretary, baby?"

"You have the suit," I pointed out.

"Don't worry," Arcade told me. He looked twice his size with the intimidating armor that conveniently fit him perfectly. "I've been keeping a list for a while now. I'll be sure to put 'cats' up there right next to 'dogs' and 'every other animal that exists on this planet'."

"You know," I chuckled. "When you said that Boone was your friend, I thought you admired him because he was a nice guy."

"Well, I suppose I do." His eyes were fixed upwards, inspecting the tunnel of plane scraps above our heads. "Admire him, I mean. He deserves admiration sometimes. He can also be nice too… sometimes."

"Are you sure?"

"I've seen it." He stepped forward to open the gate for me, planting his feet to the ground in order to let Raul in as well, who was dragging the propeller behind him. "You just have to look really, really hard."


	17. Chapter 17

Megaton was not only built completely from plane scraps, but the whole ground sloped downward into a large crater surrounding a large, undetonated nuke. At the sight of the bomb, and the few people casually walking beside it, I stopped in my tracks. The sudden lurch in my stomach warned me that staying here was a bad idea—what with our luck the thing would detonate in our sleep, blowing us all to division.

The bearded man dressed in patches standing in the accumulated pool of water around the thing didn't help much, as he was preaching about how it would _really_ detonate, and how we would all be happy with our desecrated bodies.

"BEHOLD! HE IS COMING WITH THE CLOUDS! And all eyes shall be BLIND with his glory! Every ear shall be STRICKEN DEAF to hear the THUNDER OF HIS VOICE! Let the men, women, and CHILDREN OF THE EARTH come forth to gather and behold the Power of Atom! Let those who dwell here in his favored land attend now to the words of the Prophet of Atom. Come forth and drink the waters of the glow, for this ancient weapon of war is our salvation! It is the very symbol of Atom's glory. Let it serve as a reminder of the Division that has occurred in the past, and the resplendence of the promise of our Division in the times to come! GIVE YOUR BODIES to Atom, my friends! Release yourself to his power, feel his glow, and BE DIVIDED! There will be NO TEARS, NO SORROW, no suffering! For in the Division, we shall see our RELEASE from the pain and suffering of this world! Yea—"

"—this is why I don't worship Atom," I muttered under my breath to Raul.

The rusted pipe running down the slope next to us was spurting water, which we moved to avoid. It was a huge pipe—half as tall as we were and too long to take notice, crisscrossing its way past metallic houses and into alleyways. Sitting casually on the pip near where the hill ended an somewhat level ground began was a dark-skinned man that proudly displayed a beard, a leather duster, a rifle, an impressive cowboy hat, and a silver star that glinted the word: "SHERRIF". As we approached, he stood from the pipe and strode closer until he was right in front of us, forcing us to a stop.

"So you folks are the newcomers I've been hearing about," he said in a nostalgic southern drawl. "I missed you the first time you went through, but I see you've multiplied as quickly as you could in my absence."

"Listen, big man," Benny called from over my shoulder and stepped forward, rolling his shoulders. "We ain't finks… dig? Your tough-guy act spells out 41 flavors of hot, messy wrong and—"

He was interrupted as the sheriff's rifle was thrust into his face. "Listen you," he growled. "I'm Lucas Simms, the sheriff of this town—mayor too, when the need arises—and I don't need a couple of outlaws trespassing on this beautiful town, do you hear me? So, if you're ready to cause trouble, I'd suggest you walk right back out the way you came because the only problem Megaton has faced since the Lone Wanderer's contribution is the idiot still pissing in the drinks up at Moriarty's Saloon."

I pulled the paralyzed Benny a few steps back and replaced him in front of Lucas's barrel. "He means no harm to you, sir," I apologized. "His dialect is very… _unique_, and sometimes things come out of his mouth that he doesn't realize. We don't mean your town any harm; our Vertibird crashed, and yours was the closest town. We would just like a place to stay, maybe some supplies."

He eyed me for a minute, and then slipped his gun back behind his back. "You've got a few manners, little miss," he said approvingly. "I like that. What are all of your names? Are there any more of you coming along soon?"

_Yes, we asexually reproduce about once an hour,_ I wanted to say, but the nice manners had gotten me on his good side, which was where I wanted to stay. "No more of us; I'm Lydia, and this is Arcade, Raul, and Boone. The one with the loud mouth—"

"—hey!"

"—is Benny," I finished. "We're from out west—in the Mojave around New Vegas. The whole place has been taken over by the Legion dictator Caesar, and we were all looking for refuge out here, away from all the chaos."

"Alright, alright, I can deal with that," Lucas smiled and nodded, then his brown eyes grew stony again as he eyed my companions. "But you all better keep this in your thick skulls: these are my people. This is my town. You so much as breathe wrong and I'm gonna f*ckin' end ya."

"We understand, sir," I answered grimly.

"Good," he said, and tipped his hat. "Don't forget it. You say you folks need a place to stay? Moriarty's place is the only one open." His face turned sour at the mentioning of Moriarty's name. "My advice: don't talk to the man any more than you have to." He turned to point at the building at the top of the opposite slope, which had a large wooden sign out front. It was far enough away that I couldn't read what it said, but I imagined that it was the bar's name.

"What about shops?" I asked quickly before Lucas shuffled back to his pipe-seat.

He pointed to the nearest building on the right. "Doc's Clinic right there. Above it is Moira's shop, there." To the nearest one on the left. "The Brass Lantern, if you want drinks without piss in them. Behind Confessor Cromwell in that building up there is the Church of Atom, if y'alls religious. That's about it, really." He dipped his hat to me again, and I answered with a small nod.

Walking a small ways to form a huddle, I asked, "Where to first?"

"I say the Doc's Clinic first, boss," Raul said quickly. "In case you can't remember, Arcade took a bullet not too long ago."

"I'm fine now," Arcade said, dignified, and then added a little meeker, "Though, we could use supplies."

"Will the doc be willing to buy a propeller?" Boone asked sourly.

"That is a good question. Let's try Moy…Moo… Mo…"

"Moira," Raul suggested.

"What he said," I answered quickly, jabbing a finger at him in case nobody knew which 'he' I was talking about. "We'll try her place; see if she'll buy our random junk. Then back down to the clinic, touch up on supplies, or to the Brass Lantern for some food and drink without piss?"

"Really depends on how many caps the propeller gives us," Boone grunted.

"True," I said, switching my pointing to him. "How many caps does Moriarty want for our room?"

"Two hundred, boss," Raul piped in again.

I frowned, glaring at the propeller in his hands. "Let's see how much that propeller gets us before we decide anything."


	18. Chapter 18

Moira's store, the Craterside Supply, had a quaint little painting on the door with its name in casual letters. Someone had taken a pencil to it and lightly added beneath it "Jericho was here." The door proved easy to open—the knob having been worn over with overuse. The inside was musty and dark, with a faint greenish tint to the air. Junk was littered all over the counters, ranging from pre-war lamps to giant hulks of random scrap metal. A bodyguard was leaning stonily against the wall to the left, and he and Boone exchanged looks in a secret stoic code that I didn't understand. Moira was in the middle of the floor, sweeping very poorly, and looked up when we entered with the biggest grin I had ever seen. Her hair was red and her lip displayed a noticeable hint of a moustache growing, but her unsightly appearance didn't keep her from straightening, dropping the broom, and greeting us.

"Well hello there!" she said as the broom hit the floor with a sound that didn't even make her flinch. Her voice told me immediately that we would have a hard time getting along. "I can't say I've ever seen _you guys_ around here! What can I do ya for?"

I shuffled a few steps closer, and awkwardly waved at the junk we all carried in our hands. "We came to sell you a few things so we could find a hot meal and a warm bed."

She clapped her hands together in delight, coming closer to us. "Oh, that's absolutely _wonderful!_ You have such interesting things… here, set them… right here on the counter." She casually pushed a pile of pre-war money onto the floor, and we began to pile things up. "Ooh, that is quite the pile you got there, isn't it? Is that a propeller? My, that's interesting!" She inspected our pile for a few moments, just glancing over the tops of the things we set down. "You want to sell all of this, correct?"

"Yes," I answered bluntly.

"Hmm, hmm, hmm! I'm willing to give you a good sum of… 203 caps. Sound fair?" she asked.

"203 caps, huh," I repeated grimly. "Well, we can sleep. Can't really eat, or get supplies, though."

"203 caps is better than nothing, considering all we had to offer was a broken, rusty propeller, a spare parachute, and some wires," Raul offered, layering as much enthusiasm as he could into his voice. I couldn't tell if he was actually enthusiastic, trying to see the bright side, or just being sarcastic and actually expected me to barter with her. I really hoped that it wasn't the latter, as I had a pitifully low barter skill.

"If you guys are willing to work for your pay, I might have a, uh, long term job for all of you," Moira piped in quietly with a hesitant giggle.

"If it gets us food and supplies, then done," I said immediately, and Arcade gave me an incredulous look.

"Lydia, we have no idea what she's asking us to do," he objected, his ebony armor giving a distinguishable _clink_ as he took a step forward. "For all we know, we could be immerging ourselves in a mass murder—"

"Mass murder!" Moira exclaimed in horror. "My, my! No, nothing of the sort, I assure you! You see, I wrote a book—maybe you've heard of it: The Wasteland Survival Guide? No? Well, that's okay, you can have a free copy, just, here, take it." She pushed the book into my hands and clapped her hands in joy. "It's a cute little thing, isn't it?"

"Quite," I said simply.

"Quite, I like that word! Well, anyways, you see, after I finished that book, I realized that I had left several key aspects out… well, gee, I left a whole lot out!" She covered her face with a hand in an embarrassed gesture. "So I decided to put it in a sequel, but my previous book buddy has… well, you know… he's passed on to Atom in the Great Division, you see."

"That's always a good sign," I heard Boone mutter.

Moira continued on, having not heard a word. "So I can't exactly continue on my work without my field partner, right? But you guys," she gasped exaggeratingly, waving her arms at us. "You guys look… capable! You three are wearing some good armor—what is that armor?" she asked, pointing to me.

"Legion Vexillarius," I answered, straightening my shoulders a bit with pride. "I got it from killing one to sneak into the Legion camp in order to grab my companions and escape the tyrannical Legion rule and come east, to here."

"That's not _why_ you came to the Legion camp," Arcade muttered.

"It's as much why as I want it to be," I hissed back.

Since it seemed as if the lady couldn't hear anything quieter than the average indoor-voice, her face lit up with delight. "Why, that is positively, absolutely _charming!_ And you there, you look like a very good repairman—Miguel, is it?—and you look like a businessman, or, or, an ambassador! Boy, I'm sure all of you could get so much done with no problemo, right? You guys got this in the bag, maybe almost as good as the Lone Wanderer when he was my field buddy!"

Lucas Simms's words rang like an echo in my head: _The only problem Megaton has faced since the Lone Wanderer's contribution is the idiot still pissing in the drinks up at Moriarty's Saloon_. This Lone Wanderer guy was quite the hotshot in Megaton, I mused. Maybe almost like the Courier from New Vegas. I only hoped that he had made better choices. Well, I supposed that the question had already been answered since apparently there aren't any problems in Megaton anymore because of him. He even had the guts to help out this chick to the very end to finish her book—and she held him in extreme light—which was much more than the Courier had ever done for anyone, I was certain. Well, excluding Caesar, who he flipped head over heels for…

Snapping out of my little monologue of thought, I realized that Moira had finished her _delightful_ display and all of my followers were looking at me curiously for the next move. Feeling my face flush, I sputtered, "Uh, what?"

"If you want, you can get started tomorrow," Moira repeated slowly, her fake-looking smile not faltering for a second. "I could lend you the room upstairs tonight—just tonight, of course—and you could discover a source of a radroach infestation tomorrow?"

Radroaches were easy as Fancy Lads. "Oh, yeah, of course. We'll do that. We'll be fine. Sure."

Her smile widened a little more, and for a second I thought it would pop her cheeks right off. "Terrific!" she exclaimed, and I winced on the note her voice hit on the "if". "The room's just right upstairs; if you want to get situated up there you could! I'll be down here, cooking up something right up and snappy for you guys, alright?"

I drew in a deep breath. "Yeah, sure, thanks," I said meekly, and then gestured for my companions to follow me to the next room and up the stairs.


	19. Chapter 19

This chapter gives a brief overview of the courier's decisions regarding each of his companions (in my fanfiction). I had a lot of fun writing the introduction to all the depressing angst and can't wait to continue on.

Hey, reader. Yeah, you. You reader, right there, with the face. You're so sexy. You know that? So incredibly amazing in every way. What? Do I want a favor from you guys? Pssh, naw... okay, maybe.

Here's my proposition: you read this chapter. You enjoy this chaper. Your face will then think, "oh, hey, wouldn't it be cool if Photosynthesis put this juicy idea that I formulated in my head in there somewhere?" You then click the PM thingy button. And then you write me about stuff you want to put in. Then I will be happy, and I will love you all just as much as I do already. Deal?

Warning... may not include all of the things suggested. Also warning... no one may suggest anything and I will be sad.

* * *

"What now?" Boone grunted.

"How about a nice game of _spin the bottle?_" I asked sarcastically.

"How about a nice game of _my foot goes down your throat?_" He snapped back, but without a hint of sarcasm. "It'll go down far enough to where you'll have to pay for my dry cleaning, because your shit will be in my shoe."

"Careful, doll, I think the hotshot NCR lapdog over here's getting googlies for the ooglies if you catch my drift," Benny piped in happily, rocking like a child on the floor with a firm grip on his own shoes. I caught absolutely nothing of his drift, but I didn't say a word about it.

Boone looked as if he wanted to snap another clever remark, but even he didn't seem to have understood Benny's Chairman dialect.

"Maybe we should talk about our feelings," Raul suggested.

"Oh, yes," Arcade rolled his eyes to continue the sarcastic streak we had going. "Let's all just get in a nice circle and talk about our relationship with the Courier and how it makes us sad. Lydia could be our therapist, to hold our hand and tell us that it's okay."

"No, I'm serious," Raul said bluntly. "I mean, it's a new place, a new life we'll be living. Maybe we should get everything off of our backs. Or, at the very least, the first step or something. Lydia doesn't have a relationship with the boss-man that I know of, so she could just give us a rundown on her own life before we got together, because I sure as hell don't know anything about her."

We sat there in silence for a few moments, already in a rugged circle on the floor. There were only two beds in Moira's little room, and none of us had wanted to venture down to see if they were hers/her bodyguard's and she wanted us to sleep on the cold metal. We all just figured that we would find out soon enough.

"Well, the Courier rescued me from Black Mountain," Raul started. "I thought my life would get better from there—and it did. He convinced me to continue living like I was—off in a little shop in Outer Vegas. It was my way with… coping, I guess. I was pretty fine with anything that he did, up until the Legion soldiers flooded through, started slaughtering innocents in the streets, grabbed me from my home, and brought me to Caesar so I could fix a Vertibird. And to think, I was once afraid of repairing a car, and I was threatened on even thinner ice to fix an entire flying machine!" He shook his head, and cleared his throat, nodding to Benny.

"Oh, what, you don't want _me_ to go, do you?" Benny objected.

"You're the one who started all this; you might as well," Boone snorted, and my ears perked up.

Benny scowled at the sniper for a minute or two. "Fine, fine," he grumbled, readjusting his childlike sitting position to a simpler cross-legged one. "I was out making the big plans to take over New Vegas my own sweet self," he began. "I had mapped out the House's movements with a securitron that I had rewired. I then tracked the Courier out to the cemetery by Goodsprings and shot him point blank." He gave a nervous chuckle. "Maybe I should've done it twice. That hotshot drug himself through the desert by the balls to find me and have me crucified at Ol' Baldie's camp. Yep, that was the basics of it all; you can deduce the rest." The fact that I could actually understand him for once threw me off, but Benny gestured an irritated wave at Boone to share his story and turned from the group to sulk, whispering under his breath, "Oh, I wish I'd been a fink, I wish I'd been a fink."

"I was the Courier's first companion as he cruised his way through Novac," Boone said, seemingly unfazed by the fact that he had to open up to tell us about his relationship. "He helped me find my wife's slaver, though now I wonder if he was pulling the wool over my eyes." He dipped his head, possibly in shame. "Manny Vargas was a good friend of mine once. I wonder now why I even believed the Courier… 'Simple process of elimination' my ass." His mouth twitched grimly, and he slumped. "After I joined him we spent our days tracking down this guy," he jabbed a finger in Benny's direction, who was still turned from the rest of the group. "After spending too long with the guy I got soft and told him everything. He was…" he fumbled for words. "Understanding. We went to Bitter Springs and… well, he put salt in old wounds, you could say. At the time, I didn't care much. Just moped around the Lucky 38 like usual. Then, when I had heard what he had done, and the Legion came through, I went on a suicide raid. Tore my way through the damn Legion forces, like I should have done many times before. Got caught and brought to the Legate, I did. He asked me to join his army. I spit tobacco in his eye. He lashed me to a cross. End of story."

Boone had quite the blunt way of explaining his story, but his voice carried an emotional air to it that left us in silence. Arcade eyed him with what might have been sympathy but was otherwise unreadable. He pushed up his glasses and shifted to hug his knees, his back against one of the beds in the corner.

"Well, I'm Arcade Gannon," he said, trying to lighten the situation.

"Hi Arcade," I answered in a monotone voice, and Boone's head perked up to listen to the doctor.

He looked uncomfortable, tense in the shoulders. His head hovered over his knees, not quite lying against them but ready to do so when needed. "I'm the one with the romantic relationship, I guess," he said meekly. "I…" his voice cracked as he tried to map out what he was going to say. "I was in the Followers camp in the Mormon Fort when I first saw him. He… walked right in, talked to Julia, and searched for some other doctors to chat with I suppose. When he came up to me, I gave him my usual guise of 'I'm a researcher, not a doctor, barrel cacti, blah blah blah'. I don't know whether he was actually interested, or if he saw through me. I'm sure it was the latter; he was always good at that…" he cleared his throat, and glanced sideways, to the wall that wasn't watching him with curious, prodding eyes. "He… charmed… me. He was quite charming. I was too quick to follow him because of that. I told him that as long as we helped out around Freeside and Outer Vegas I was alright with following a complete stranger, albeit a charming one. I remember what he said—it was 'I promise!' We continued to travel, and I thought that I learned as much about him as I could—he was shot by Goodsprings for the Platinum Chip, he met up with Boone in Novac, checked into the Lucky 38 Presidential Suite, et cetera. I ended up trusting him because he was 'pure of heart.' I thought that trust was just that—trust. I soon found out that he meant much more to me than just trust. He displayed what I thought was the same affections—the same trust." He set his chin on his knees, still managing to avoid eye contact with anyone. "I had felt affections before, you know, with other men. They just proved to be poor confidences." He met my eyes for a second. "You know, what with the Enclave thing. I was like a… lovesick teenager, to be honest. He brought me on more and more quests, and I started to believe that he was different than the others. I felt like I could actually be _allowed_ to fall for him as hard as I was."

At that moment, Moira bustled into the room with an irritatingly beaming grin. "Here we go! Cram and Aqua Pura for anyone who wants it! What are you guys doing over here, hm?"

She was stopped dead in her tracks as Boone sent her a barrage of icy spears with his eyes. "Woman!" he barked loudly, and his voice gave the slightest hint of an echo. "We're having a very emotional and private moment," his voice dropped to a low hiss "so I suggest you put the food down and back away slowly, very slowly, before I drag you out!"

Rendered speechless, Moira set the food down and inched back out of the door. Boone completely ignored the food and glanced back at Arcade.

"Continue," he said bluntly, but his tone had turned gentler.

"Oh." Arcade sputtered, with a blank look. The sudden outburst had also rendered _him_ speechless, and had snapped him out of his monologue trance. He glanced at all of us, staring at him wide-eyed—except for Boone, who was calm from underneath the dark sunglasses. Finally, he cleared his throat, and shifted back into a normal sitting position. "Well, um. That's… that's pretty much the gist of it," he claimed. "I loved him, he sold me as a slave, _acta est fabula_."

Boone looked as if he wanted to object, but instead he glanced back at the food that Moira had brought in. "Damn woman," he muttered, reaching over to grab a hunk of cram from a little white plate. "You'd think she'd know what time is the worst for interrupting people."

Boone submerged himself in his meal, while the rest of us watched, still stunned.

I cleared my throat. "Um… is… is it my turn?"

"I think we're done with stories," Boone grunted, shoveling a forkful of what I imagined was _delicious_ cram into his mouth without a wince.

I was fine with this. I didn't have much to say anyways regarding a story.

"Say, Boone," Benny squeaked hesitantly. "You ever gonna take them hot shades off?"

"I sleep in these," he muttered back, then put the plate down and migrated himself over to the bed opposite the one Arcade was leaning on. "Speaking of which: if she ever comes back for her bed tell her to wake me up herself and maybe I'll think about giving it to her."

With that, he rolled onto his side, facing away from us, and lay still.


	20. Chapter 20

I'm still more than eager to accept any suggestions for anything (anything at all, you want rainbows to pop out of Boone's butt, you tell me about it!)

* * *

Moira seemed to have dropped any other means of joyful hospitality after Boone's attack the night before. We were greeted first with Boone's stony face, sunglasses and all. He had either woken up extremely early or had simply not slept a wink. Then, down the stairs into the main room, we came face to face with more strained but cheeky smiles and a blunt speech about how we wouldn't be getting anymore freebies. And also, apparently, we needed weapons for our radroach hunt. I bought a nearly broken 10mm pistol with the money we had left, which Raul snapped up, and frankly told the others that if they wanted something they could find a stick, or use their fists. It was only Radroaches after all.

Another marker was put on my Pip-Boy, and after much inspection I pretty much got the gist of using it correctly. Once we exit the gates of Megaton I would lead my companions through a sharp turn southeast to a pleasant-sounding town known on the machine clinging to my arm as Grayditch.

Near the exit to Megaton, however, Boone stopped me in my tracks.

"Hold up," he said, stepping in front of me. "This won't work."

"What won't work? Using fists against Radroaches? Because I promise that it works; I've done it plenty of times before. It just takes a little while, and some powerful punches, but the more you aim at the head the more chance you have of giving them a concussion and finishing the job early. If you're not all that into punching, you could pick one up and strangle it, actually, which would probably be faster than punching it anyhow, but you'd have to be careful of their—"

"—No," he interrupted me. "I mean our large group. This won't work."

I glanced back at Benny, who looked like he didn't want to come; Raul, who had been tinkering with the pistol he snatched; and Arcade, who was watching me with an unreadable expression, occasionally glancing at Boone as if he knew what the man was talking about. "What's wrong with four dudes and a chick trekking the wastes together?"

"The together part."

"What he means to say, boss," Raul piped up from behind, trotting a few steps closer up the steep slope. "Is that we don't work well together in a giant group."

"We can hardly stay in the same presidential suite without resorting to petty fist fights against each other," Arcade added, eyeing Boone.

"You guys have been doing fine so far," I objected. "You seriously don't think we can't travel in a group like this?"

"It'd be too suspicious anyhow," Boone adjoined.

"Too suspicious to _what_, exactly? Radroaches?"

Boone's strong stance held fast. "It'd be too suspicious; we can't work together; pick one of us."

I looked at him incredulously. "That's hardly any excuse. You guys don't even have guns—we don't have many caps left, how are you supposed to eat without hunting in a group with the rest of us?"

Each of my companions' faces remained impassive. "We'll manage," the sniper sniffed.

"So you're saying that I can't travel on any quest without leaving behind three people to fend for themselves because you guys _can't get along?_" I scoffed. "You guys are crazy. Absolutely crazy."

"Pick one of us," Boone repeated. "The rest will find something."

I scowled and observed my group. Benny wasn't exactly fighting material, I could tell, so he was out. It was a decision between Mr. Strong And Stoic, Mr. Repairman With A Gun, and Mr. Doctor With Power Armor A Bad Leg And No Medical Supplies. "This is stupid," I muttered, but was met with no reply.

I figured that I wouldn't get along too well with Boone, so I threw him out of the bunch. No matter what Arcade said about his soft side, he was still harsh, blunt, and scary.

Though I had friendly feelings with Arcade, there was the fact that he was still limping slightly from his bullet wound and without any useful medical supplies. For all I knew, leaving him behind might even benefit us—he was a charismatic man that knew what he was doing, maybe he could procure some stimpacks or something.

"Raul," I said finally. "Come with me, buddy, but try to save your ammo; it's just Radroaches."

"Right, boss," Raul bounded forward, giving his new pistol a professional twirl before sticking it in his belt.

"Will you guys be alright, then, what with your horrible excuses for staying behind and such?" I muttered in monotone.

"We'll be fine," Boone grunted. "Just get going."

"Maybe I will," I stuck my nose up at him as I walked past. "Just try not to get too jealous of Raul and I having the time of our lives, killing Radroaches hardcore like major bosses."

"Looks like the honeybun's got some googlies for the ooglies too," Benny said suggestively under his breath to Arcade.

"Does that mean that we're infatuated with each other?" I growled at him bluntly. "Because I think you need to get your eyes checked, Benny. Either that, or you're high."


	21. Chapter 21

Hey y'all. I just wanted to say that I totally updated the first chapter. Just the first one so far. I added a few more hints of Lydia's past, and if you guys are extremely interested you could always check it out so you can start guessing amongst yourselves what her past is. And, you know, I made her a little more realistic in terms of dealing with the Legion. I'll be working on future chapters and I appreciate any constructive critisizm as it tells me exactly what it is you guys are looking for.

Still totally accepting suggestions. If you want Benny to find a radioactive stain on his precious suit that ends up eating up the whole town of Megaton, you tell me about it dude. I won't follow this example, but maybe your suggestion could be seen in future chapters.

Also, Fallouters, remember that Grayditch is already deserted. My people were not informed of this. So, you know...

* * *

"What do you think caused this Radroach infestation, boss?" Raul called from his steady position at my right shoulder. By this time I had already gotten used to the smell his flesh gave off when exposed to the sun for an hour. He was just keeping pace alongside me, hand ready at his belt to retrieve his pistol at any sign of trouble, completely unaware that his quite possibly moldy skin was giving off a sweet odor similar to a hearty meal of rotted tissue and onions all barfed up into an oven and allowed to bake properly.

"Hard to tell without looking at the infestation itself, Raul," I told him matter-of-factly. The remains of a ghost town lay ahead of us, and a large sign displaying the white, painted-on words: "WELCOME TO GRAYDITCH" was our only hearty greeter. We hadn't seen any Radroaches on our way in, and I was beginning to wonder just how large this so-called "Radroach infestation" was. "Who knows?" I continued, making the first steps into the ever-so-quiet town. "Maybe some unhappy customer didn't order Radroach in their Fancy Lads, and the owner of the restaurant wants us to take care of it."

"This place looks absolutely deserted, boss."

"Your _face_ looks absolutely deserted, _boss_," I said calmly, and then added a chuckle, which Raul matched with a scratchy wheezing sound.

"You're not very good at coming up with comebacks," he announced in between bouts of the thick, scratchy sound he made with his throat.

"I know," I answered dejectedly. "Just be on the lookout for anything that nips at your ankles."

"If anything nips at my ankles, boss, there's a big possibility that I'm not going to feel it."

I heard a short _skree_ followed by a series of clicks coming from behind a dumpster. A little head poked out at us, equipped with a set of long antennae slapping the area around it with curiosity. Raul whipped his hand to his belt, removing the gun from its holster almost faster than I could percept. "Hold your fire dude," I held an arm out to stop him, and he lowered his pistol. "I got this!"

Snatching a sizeable rod of rusted metal from the sign, I calmly strode my way over to the insect. As I drew closer, it scuttled out of its hiding spot to take a defensive stance, its wings spread wide and vibrating to bellow that series of clicks it had made earlier. One swing aimed at its head proved potent enough, and it flopped limply to the ground. In triumph, I began to peel away the exoskeleton to reveal the squishy meat underneath.

"That looks about as appetizing as my rotting ass, boss," Raul muttered halfway in disgust.

"Yeah, well you'd be surprised at the number of people that find your rotting ass very delicious," I muttered back, thinking back to the tales of the news on the strip: _The Courier has been so kind as to recruit new escorts for the Atomic Wrangler—a new boyfriend-material-kind-of-guy, a new sexbot, a new cowgirl-ghoul…_ "You should be grateful that I'm not peeling away _your_ exoskeleton to get to those thick, juicy, price cuts in your cheeks."

"If you're looking for thick and juicy, you've got the wrong ghoul."

I took a handful of the raw meat and held it out to Raul. "I need something to wrap this in."

He eyed the way I held the stuff so easily. "You could always tear off your flag, boss, and use that—"

"No," I interrupted quickly. "The flag is the coolest thing about this whole outfit. Find something else."

Raul sighed, rolling his eyes, and began milling about in the dumpster before pulling out a very conveniently placed pre-war sweater. It was dirty and mangy-looking, but it looked perfect for holding my Radroach meat. I wrapped the squishy goo in the red fabric and slipped the package into my backpack before I noticed the faint little _blip_ sound that emitted from my Pip-Boy. On the screen, to the upper left hand corner, displayed a Vault Boy and the words: "Radroach meat added."

My head shot back, startled. "This thing keeps track of what I'm holding?!"

"You have a lot to learn about that Pip-Boy, boss."

"Yeah, well you have a lot to learn about accepting meat when you're hungry." I straightened, tearing my eyes away from the machine-wonder to look around. "Hasn't the Courier ever shared a Radroach kabob with you guys?"

"Can't say he has," Raul sniffed. "It's been all omelets and brahmin steak for us."

"Wow, living the sweet life, aren't you. Radroach isn't all that bad," I shrugged. "It's got a nice spice to it. Now, this one here is just hanging out in the garbage—_was_ hanging out, I should say. If this is all we find here, we could just tell Moira that the infestation came from the attraction to Grayditch's waste." Feeling proud of myself for coming up with an excuse so early into the quest, I beamed at my squashed work of violence like it was a masterpiece. "I'm sure she'd take that and shove it all over her book."

"Speaking of her book, boss, did you read that at all yet?"

"Nope," I said bluntly. "I gave it to Arcade because he has lots of room to store stuff in his new suit of armor. Maybe he'll sell it for enough food to last the rest of the crew until we get back."

"What would that book buy, do you think?"

"A few handfuls of dirt." I gestured for him to follow me onwards, further into the city. "It'd make some tasty seasoning if they decide to chop Benny up into little pieces and eat him."

"You can be morbid at times, boss," Raul snickered.

"It's part of the joys of being me," I answered proudly.

Together, we managed to make our way to the center of the town, which happened to be completely deserted. Looking around with a bad feeling forming in the pit of my stomach, I had said something to Raul along the lines of "Looks like a lot of people were angry at that Radroach in their Fancy Lads." He answered with silence, his hand twitching at his belt for any sign of a quick movement.

"We've only seen one Radroach," I muttered. "It shouldn't be this deserted."

Raul opened his mouth to answer back, but cut himself off by whipping around to look behind him, where a thick, bulky silhouette was staggering out of sight. I clutched to my metal rod like a baseball bat, my mind instantly a blank as I noticed that it definitely didn't look like the silhouette of a Radroach. Raul took a step forward, where his foot made an audible _crunch._ He stooped down to retrieve what he had stepped on, and handed it to me. It was a holotape, still intact even though Raul's foot had gladly tried to destroy it.

"Put it in your Pip-Boy," he said, pointing to a slot in the side that was clearly meant for it. I fumbled for a bit, trying to stick it in upside down before managing to fit it.

"_If you're listening to this,_" it began immediately in a nasally voice. "_They've driven me back down into the metro station. I know I promised not to tinker with things again, but I couldn't help myself—it was in the name of science! If my research would have worked—_" it cut off as there was the sound of a scuffle, some snorting sounds, a few gunshots, running, panting, silence. "_They're all over. All over! If you're listening to this, get out before it's too late! If they trap your exit out of Grayditch, find me in the Marigold Metro Station and we can bunker down together and try to figure out how to get rid of them with science. Just be warned! If one comes, they'll all come and you'll be DOOMED! DOOMED! DOOMED!_" There was another scuffle and more running. "_This is Doctor Lesko. Don't even bother trying to get out of the city if you're already this far in. Just come down to the station. They'll swarm you; it'll be too much. I'll explain everything when you get down here, just hurry before it's too late!_"

The holotape ended with a cute little _blip_, and Raul said, "That's always a good sign."

"The Metro Stations are not far, I guess," I shrugged, turning to squint in the general direction my Pip-Boy offered. "But what exactly was he talking about? Radroaches?" Raul shrugged along, and I frowned down at my Pip-Boy, wishing the holotape had given a little more information than simply implying a certain impending doom. "Must be some really big Radro—"

I was cut off as Raul's body slammed into mine, toppling me to the ground. Looking up, I realized that it was not Raul at all, but rather a giant mass of pink flesh. It was wiggling, squirming, emitting scratch noises and snorts. It took me a moment to realize that it was digging through the plating at my shoulder. I lashed out at it, but as soon as my hand made contact its body rotated and a set of hulking teeth aimed for my head.


	22. Chapter 22

A friend of mine was the inspiration behind the creatures in this quest arc. I texted her one day saying "Quick, what would go wrong with a Moira quest to get rid of Radroaches?" She replied with "Instead of Radroaches, they find this crazy mole rat that mated with this freaking Radroach to make this big ol' rapist mole rat Radroach thing!" I put them in, made a mediocre explanation to why they're there, and said "Good enough."

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone, and Merry soon-to-be Christmas as well. My present is that you guys are still bothering to read this, and your present is an invisible trophy. You just have to find it. I hope to be done with this quest arc and onto another by Christmas, but I don't think that will happen. I'll try nonetheless. Why not. In the meantime, enjoy this chapter.

* * *

A gunshot.

"Boss, get up!" I was being tugged out from underneath the creature. I sputtered and kicked, managing to topple the limp mass of flesh onto its side. I was covered in blood, but it wasn't my own, and it smelled foul. "Boss, come on, get up!" I was too distracted by the lifeless body that was flumped on the ground. A bullet wound in what I assumed was its head told me that Raul had made his mark.

"What is that thing?" I muttered in horror as he drug me to my feet. It looked like a sick turtle—a brown shell hugged its back, with the pink flesh bulging out on all sides underneath it. Underneath the fresh coat of blood from the bullet wound jutted out the pair of hulking tusks that had almost ripped off my head. "Is that… that's not a mole rat, is it?"

"Looks like we found the source of the abandonment of this place, boss," Raul answered, nudging the pair of antennae sticking up. "Though, I'm not sure if this is exactly a Radroach…"

"Do you think this is what that Lesko guy was talking about in that holotape? These… monster creature things?" At Raul's shrug, I began to nudge it as well. At the contact with my boot, a thick, green liquid oozed slowly out. "Ew."

"Looks like you have baby mole rat Radroach ooze on your boot, boss," Raul snickered. "Maybe if you're lucky it'll eat through your boot and turn you into one of them."

"We're not facing a zombie apocalypse here… or, at least I think we aren't…" I gave the creature a final kick, starting to get images in my head of the former residents of Grayditch getting overrun by the creatures, turning into them, the whole town burning… "And what do you mean by 'if I'm lucky'? That doesn't sound very lucky to me."

Before I could say more, another chorus of clicks and snarls came traveling down from the alley. It sounded like a swarm of locusts alongside a stampeding herd of feral ghouls all moaning in pain at once. My heart dropped into my stomach, and I knew that I definitely couldn't handle too many more bites to the head.

"Raul, how many bullets do you have for that thing?"

He started to take a few steps back. "Only twelve, boss."

"Alright then," I said mildly, my voice cracking as it recognized trouble. "I say we run."

"To the Marigold Station, like Lesko said?"

They came pouring out of the alley all at once, like a river. Without answering Raul, I grabbed onto his arm and pulled him along after me, blindly following the resiliently blinking arrow on my Pip-Boy. Raul fired a shot, and another, and I desperately wondered if I was actually feeling the hot breath at my ankles or if it was just paranoia. Another shot from Raul's pistol that stopped the feeling told me that it wasn't.

"There's the Station," I gasped.

"We're not facing the steps correctly, boss."

"We can jump down—"

Raul got trigger-happy a few more times, and we reached the metal overhang of the Station. I leapt off the platform down to the stairs below, dragging Raul with me. Somehow, he managed to land first and regain his balance, catching me tightly when I lost mine. Getting a faceplant of his foul flesh didn't seem as bad as it would have only moments before, and together we yanked at the metal fencing of the Station and forced ourselves inside. As soon as Raul wrenched it back to a screeching close, the creatures attacked it, thrusting their stubby claws through every opening they could muster, piling on top of each other to snarl at us with bared tusks. Raul and I stepped back, breathing heavily in relief at surviving the swarm, feeling that overwhelming sense of security in those metal bars, no matter how flimsy they actually were.

I turned to examine our position. We were looking down a wide tunnel, littered with ceiling tile, dust, and various pieces of discarded junk. Raul and I looked at each other before beginning down the hallway.

"Lesko?" I called, finding more and more relief in my echo the farther and farther we got from the swarm. "Doctor Lesko? Are you in here?"

"Maybe he's dead, boss," Raul said bluntly. "You ever think of that?"

"It's not the kind of thing I would appreciate thinking about at this time, Raul."

"Just offering a bit of realism."

"I know," I muttered darkly. The hallway opened up to a vast chamber of abandoned train cars and metal track down below the platform we were walking on. There was a help desk in the center, with the light on top still flickering, but all that was inside was a skeleton, and that wouldn't be much help.

"Maybe that's Doctor Lesko, boss."

"Maybe it isn't," I answered back, starting to wring my hands in anxiety. What if we were trapped in this subway station, doomed to rot? "Even if it is, we could find another way out, right?"

"Maybe all the other exits are blocked off, boss."

"Maybe you're getting really cynical, Raul, and you should knock it off!" I suppressed a jump from the clarity and volume of my own echo. Taking a deep breath, I started flicking dials and switches on my Pip-Boy until I came up to a screen that looked like a compass. Behind us, west, there was a throng of red tick marks, while north held a single green. "I think red is for hostile and green is not," I murmured to myself. "I hope that green one is Doctor Lesko."

"Knowing our luck, boss, it's Moira, just waiting to jump out and shout 'surprise!'"

"If it's her, be as quick with that pistol as you can. I wouldn't want to hear her voice long enough for a scream because this isn't funny."

We began down one of the two stairways—both of which had probably been pre-war escalators. I continued to feebly call Lesko's name, getting quieter as we descended as my voice was swallowed up by the daunting feeling that maybe Raul was right. Not about Moira, but about us being trapped, or Lesko dead.

Various skittering noises could be heard navigating through the metal walls of the only tunnel not caved in by rock and debris, and Raul clutched tighter to his pistol. I frowned grimly, wishing that I didn't have to rely on my fists, or at least that I had thought to grab my metal rod that I had dropped.

The green tick mark on my Pip-Boy was concealed behind a metal door a few feet down from the entrance to one of the two subway tunnels. I stood directly in front of it, waving my arm around just to make sure that it was the right location and I didn't just have poor compass reading skills. Raul gave an insistent nod for me to continue, and I took a deep breath, gathered my wits, and pressed the button in the center of the door.

A yelp of surprise caused me to jump before I realized the metal sliding back had been replaced with a figure of a man. He must have been on his way out, for he was awkwardly right in the middle of the doorway when it opened.

"You startled me!" he cried in a familiar nasally voice. "You mustn't creep up on people like that."

"You're the one who scared me, idiot! What the hell are you doing standing right in front of the door, trying to freak out passerby that travel in your path?!"

Raul stepped up, nudging me out of the way. "Are you Dr. Lesko?"

"I am, yes!" he said, crossing his arms over his crisp lab coat. "Did you acquire my holotape? Oh, how marvelous!"

"Yes, yes, marvelous," I grumbled. "What the hell is going on up there? There are… mole rat Radroach thingies everywhere!"

"Oh! You have managed to survive a sizeable hoard of the Moleroaches as well! Oh, marvelous, marvelous! Come inside, this way," he grabbed ahold of my shoulder and pulled me inside before I could react. Raul followed hesitantly, closing the metal door behind him. Inside, the skittering noises in the walls could no longer be heard, giving a reassuring feeling of silence. "I was quite honestly expecting the last fellow that helped me to return, but you two will do just as acceptable!" He started to search for something on his cluttered desk, next to his terminal. "If you two were formidable enough to navigate your way through the Moleroach defenses then you must be perfectly capable of contributing to my work—I'm trying to reverse my mistakes, you see," he straightened, thrusting a clipboard into Raul's hands. "Hold this. And I need a few assistants—"

"Um, excuse me, doctor," I interrupted sourly. "We didn't exactly sign up to help you. We didn't even know that you were still alive down here."

"That is precisely why this is the ideal place for my work!" he beamed. "No chaotic interruptions, no small children to infuriate me with their curiosity, and complete safety from the flesh eating creatures that escaped from my hatchery. If you don't want to help, then you can go return to the surface, if you so desire."

"Okay. We'll help."

"How marvelous! I shall share with you the supplies in my bunker until we debunk the problems in my prototype and clear the surface of all invading Moleroaches."

"You got real creative with the species name," Raul piped in, investigating the various papers on the clipboard.

"Please, let's just cut to the chase," I grumbled. "What did you do to get mole rats fused onto Radroaches?"

He bumbled around in the back of his bunker, kicking various empty tin cans to the wall as if it would hide them. "My experiments are of a complex nature and would take a scientist to explain… oh wait! I'm a scientist! How marvelous!" He beamed even brighter and moved back towards us. "My foray into separating these intermingling creatures is of utmost importance! Firstly, I intend to reverse the ill effects of my defective mutagen by way of a hormonal concoction laced with a new mutagen. Secondly I shall continue my research into generationally reducing each creatures' immense stature by way of a pre-birth induced mutagen that I have been trying to perfect but was not successful with… again."

"If you weren't successful with it the first time, you probably shouldn't have tried it again. I'm guessing the first time produced similar results." I shook my head at Raul as he tried to push the clipboard into my hands.

"Oh, yes, similar results, yes. But it was one mistake, and one mistake shouldn't get in the way of science! After my last assistant killed my queen ant, I've had to find other suitable creatures for my experiments. I had caged both mole rats and Radroaches to see which was more susceptible to my mutagen, and to put a long story short the defect caused them to recognize one another as the same species and somehow manage to breed out of control."

"That's quite a humorous problem you have there," Raul chuckled, throwing the clipboard back onto Lesko's cluttered desk. "What exactly do you want us to do?"

"I may be able to correct this error, but all of my test subjects escaped my hatchery and absconded to the surface," Lesko rambled. "I would need a new specimen to enact my tests, and I am not in a position to emerge from my laboratory again. The last time I tried, I only scarcely succeeded in producing that holotape you found and defend my own life."

"Dude, we just barely escaped with our own lives!" I crossed my arms sourly. "I'm not going back up there. You do it."

"You could always be kicked out of my bunker and be forced to live up there," he warned. "I just need one specimen. Then you will be allowed to make yourself at home." He gestured around to the various piles of ant and possibly Moleroach meat lying around the room, as well as the crate labeled _Aqua Pura _overflowing with bottles of clean water.

I scowled, and Raul watched me for my decision. "You had better be good at fixing your mistakes, Lesko, though I doubt it. Fine. We'll get your stupid specimen."

"You will? How marvelous! Just be careful," he was already turning away from us to his terminal "the Moleroaches can be quite tenacious."

I exhaled irritably, and then gestured for Raul to begin to follow. "Alright, Raul, shoot the first one you see in the legs a few times and maybe we can drag it down here."

Lesko's head shot up from his terminal. "SHOOT? Oh, no no no! You mustn't do that! The state of that creature decides how effectively my hormonal concoction will work! Just trap it—don't hurt it—and I'll do the rest when you get it back down here."

I had shot my hands up in defense as his voice had risen. "Okay, okay, doc. We'll do our best not to hurt it, then." As Lesko nodded violently and returned to his terminal work, I led Raul out of the bunker, whispering, "that guy is crazy if he thinks we can actually do this without killing ourselves."

He frowned grimly back, his moustache twitching. "Maybe it would have been better it that skeleton _had_ been him, boss."


	23. Chapter 23

The wire had surprisingly held against the attack of the Moleroach swarm, though several new holes had found their way into it, probably from the teeth that had been gnawing at the metal. The swarm had dispersed, at least, though it seemed to have set up camp nearby, just waiting for a hunk of flesh to come into their field of vision. Or perhaps it was smell.

A few stragglers were sleeping on the edge of what looked like an ocean of pink flabs and brown shells. One in particular was at the middle of the steps leading down to the station.

"How do we get to it without alerting the others?" Raul asked.

"Very carefully," I answered, rummaging in my pack to take out the clump of pre-war sweater. Unwrapping it, we were instantly enveloped in the fragrance of Radroach meat. "Maybe we could use this as bait."

"Would it work on something that's half Radroach, though, boss?"

"Well," I began, unraveling a strand of the sweater to tie to the hunk of meat. "It'll either want to eat the bait or have sex with it. Either way, I think we'll reel it in."

Opening the door a crack, I managed to throw my trap out to the base of the steps. At the noise of the meat _plopping_, the Moleroach startled awake and looked around, blinking in confusion. "Come on," I murmured, twitching the rope impatiently. At the movement, the creature found the meat, stumbled to its stubby legs, and began to walk towards it. I hissed in victory, nudging Raul to get the bag Lesko had hastily given us as we had exited his laboratory. As the Moleroach was lured in closer, I inched the door open, desperately hoping that the darkness of the station would conceal me from its sight. The meat slid in through the door, and I jerked back out of view so the creature wouldn't see me as it followed. The quiet _pitter patter_ of the stubby paws quieted. Looking at Raul, I saw his eyes flash caution, and I glanced around the corner to see what had stopped our little victim.

The Moleroach was staring right at me, a snarl rising in its throat. My sudden movement had alerted it. "Atom hates me!" I hissed through my teeth, looking at Raul with wide eyes. "Get it! Quick!"

Raul lunched out the gate with the bag, managing to trap the critter. From underneath the bag, the Moleroach squealed, and a patch of ooze began seeping through the bag. A chorus of roaring snarls and clicks came from the clump of bodies coming to life. Raul looked at the horde in horror before dragging his prize back through the metal bars. I shut them as soon as he was through, and together we dashed back to Lesko's bunker.

"You nearly suffocated it, what were you thinking?!"

"It nearly suffocated itself," I objected, twirling my fork uninterestedly as I chewed on my hearty meal of beans in a can. "If it didn't ooze so much gunk shit, it would be able to breathe just fine."

"It's a defensive mechanism," Lesko continued to scold. He continued on into a rant of large words that I didn't care about.

"Well, you _obviously_ have an intelligence of 10 or something, so what would I know compared to you?" I picked up another scoopful of pork and beans. "Raul, you want some?" I asked, offering the food which he took with pleasure.

"At the very least, you could apologize!"

"I'm _sorry_," I moaned in sarcasm. "Now, don't you have work to do so we can get out of here?"

"Oh, yes, I do," Lesko said hurriedly, and scuttled back down towards where I assumed was his hatchery, where he had successfully managed to trap our Moleroach before returning to scold us.

As the sound of his footsteps disappeared, I hissed to Raul, "Now you can take more of his food."

Raul was already reaching for a lump of ant meat on the desk behind him. "Do you think this would cook fast in a Bunsen burner, boss?"

"I don't know about _fast_, but you could definitely try," I said, eyeing him as he reached to plug one into Lesko's generator. "So the Courier fed you ant meat but not Radroach?"

"The Courier was already high and mighty by the time he met me, boss," Raul answered. "Maybe Boone has eaten Radroach with him, but not I. There was once when we ran out of Fancy Lads and brahmin steak on a quest regarding a bunch of ants in the middle of the Mojave. We ate what we had available then, and I had kind of liked the sweet taste the meat gives."

"Radroach has an interesting spice to it," I mused. "Maybe you'd like it too."

"Find another Radroach, boss, and maybe I'll try it."

"I won't remember to tell you to try it," I admitted. "So when I find one just go ahead and take it."

"I will." Once again, I couldn't quite tell if he was being enthusiastic about trying Radroach or sarcastic. Raul was either cynically sarcastic most of the time, or he had a very sarcastic way of saying what he actually wanted. "You know, boss, you talked about Atom again. Are you sure that you don't worship Atom?"

I bit my lip, knowing that the fact we were trapped inside Lesko's bunker with no possible interruptions made me unable to avoid answering. "I used to, I guess," I told him slowly, then clamped my mouth shut, slumped further against the wall, and took another bite of beans.

"Used to?" He lazily turned the ant meat over so the flame from the Bunsen burner could lick at the other side. "What happened, boss?"

"I… well… I never was really much of a heavy worship kind of girl, you know?" I sighed. "My father was the leader of the little league of Atom worshipers a little outside NCR territory. He sounded exactly like that Confessor Cromwell guy, except he would always talk of death and destruction to those who didn't support the Division and all of Atom's gifts and yadda yadda…"

"Sounds like a wonderful father."

"Oh, he was, let me tell you," I grumbled. "He was so involved in his church… it kind of influenced me to be a rebellious teen back in the day. I would always hang out with all the bad boys and we'd go get drunk and write all over the church certain profanities like 'Atom Divided Your Mother Last Night!' and various other creative things."

Raul chuckled. "Just as creative with the profanities as you are now, boss."

I chuckled along. "Shut up, Raul. I try, okay?" I scraped at the remnants of my meal, getting a sizeable mouthful. "Eventually, I left and was kicked out at the same time. I set up shop not too far from the religious settlement, and became a lovely therapist for those that wanted to actually change their ways, instead of just confessing about them."

"I don't see you as much of a therapist, boss."

"I never said I was a good one. I was a mediocre therapist, but I was the only one around so people came to see me." I bit my lip again, wondering if I should stop now before I say too much. "I had a pretty good thing going. People came to pay me to listen to them. I listened… then I used their money to buy me supplies in town."

Raul eyed me curiously. "You were at the Legion camp for supplies, though, boss. How come, if you could get supplies at your town?"

I set my can down dejectedly and frowned. "I'm only talking because you guys shared with me, alright? So don't get any… big ideas or anything." Neither of us knew what I meant by 'big ideas', but it made me feel better to warn against them anyways. "All of a sudden, my business died. I still had some caps left over, and I needed a few more supplies, so I went back to town to pick them up and see why no one had any problems with their lives anymore. When I got there, the whole place reeked. Bodies were piled up on top of each other, and this band of Raiders were lighting them on fire."

At this point, I expected a quick 'oh, that's terrible.' Raul remained silent though, cautiously watching me with his ghoulishly glazed-over eyes. I eyed him back, chewing on the inside of my cheek as I wondered if he was going to say anything at all.

After a deep breath, I hurried to finish, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with him there. "I lived off the land as best I could, but one can only do that for so long before they run out of supplies. Thus, I needed more, and I went to the Legion camp, and that was that."

He leaned back then, and closed his eyes. I watched him with lips pursed in an awkward expression, but he didn't seem to notice. Raul was different from most people. I couldn't quite get a grasp on him. Reading his emotions was like a mediocre engineer putting together an army of securitrons piece by piece all by himself.

I was sure that the ghoul hadn't fallen asleep so fast, but at the same time I appreciated his attempt to make his simulated nap look real in order to give me space. Or rather, I hoped that was the purpose of said nap. It was either that, or Raul simply didn't want to hear any more and retreated into a dormant state to throw me off.

I was never one for taking naps often, but even so, I figured it wouldn't hurt to try. I stood and shuffled over to Lesko's dusty mattress thrown in the corner, craving a nice bed rather than leaning against the legs of a table like my ghoulish companion. Curling up into a comfortable ball on my side, I began to formulate excuses to get me out of Lesko's pathetic wrath if I did happen to fall asleep and he were to find me stealing his bed.


	24. Chapter 24

:I I believe this quest will be over with within the next chapter or two. Probably the next chapter, and then the chapter after will be a transition between this and the next (a.k.a., going back to Megaton.)

Do you guys think the Wasteland celebrates Christmas?

And as per the usual, go ahead and PM me any crazy ideas/people you want to pop up in future chapters.

* * *

I was woken by the gently prodding hands of Raul, who, after seeing that I was awake, shuffled back over by the table to lean against its legs. Still dazed at the fact that I had fallen asleep after all, I realized that there was a quiet _tap tapping_ noise growing ever louder. It was Lesko's shoes, quickly galloping up to the bunker.

I stood quickly and took a few steps away from the bed as the metal door opened and Lesko entered, clearly out of breath.

"I… I've done it!" he exclaimed with glee. "I've accomplished my task quite thoroughly and with absolutely no blemishes in my plan!"

"You've made them smaller, then?" I asked mildly, rocking on my feet a little.

"Small-? Oh, no, no, I have yet to perfect my mutagen, of course," he said hastily. "But I've done it! I've removed the—" he sputtered a mixture of words that slurred together in his excitement. He crossed the room to Raul, grasping him by the shoulders and giving him a strong shake. "Do you realize what this means? DO YOU COMPREHEND THE CAPABILITIES THAT THIS RESEARCH CAN UNLOCK?!" He emitted a long, gasping fit of laughter from his lungs and whipped his head to look at me, his hands still on Raul's disturbed shoulders. "You. Both of you. You need to get me more Moleroaches. THIS WILL WORK WONDERS THAT HAVE NEVER BEEN WITNESSED BEFORE!"

"L-Lesko…" I began, reaching out to him gingerly in an attempt to soothe him. "I think you need to lie down for a little—"

"I'M FINE," he growled suddenly demonically, his eyes wild. "I have reached into the depths of science and emerged a completely new being! I knew my experiments would work, I just did not expect results capable of—" yet again, he stumbled over his words to where he was not understandable but did not seem to mind. The doctor's hands clamped on Raul's shoulders with a force that I hoped would not start peeling off layers of the ghoul's skin.

"Alright, Lesko. We'll get your Moleroaches so you can continue your experiments, alright? We just need a little more time to get rested up. I mean, we nearly died out there with the swarm, and then you had us capture one of them already."

He dropped Raul then, who staggered against the desk for support. Lesko then began towards me, his arms shaking violently, and I noticed that there were deep scratches in the arms of his lab coat. The sleeves were stained with dried and crusting blood. "_Need a little more time, you say._ How much time do you need, just sitting here, partaking in my own supplies, and most likely SLEEPING IN MY BED!" At my fidgeting, he started to eye my own arms hungrily. "If you don't want to help in my endeavors, you could always go back up to the surface and serve as Moleroach bait! IF YOU DON'T WANT TO HELP IN MY FORRAY, I COULD ALWAYS LOCK YOU IN THE HATCHERY AND EXPERIMENT ON _YOU_ FOR A CHANGE, EH?"

There was a light _click_ sound, and Lesko froze. Over the doctor's shoulders loomed a pistol, held by Raul, who had a skeptical scowl that twirled his moustache. Lesko glanced over his right shoulder at the barrel staring him down, and began to laugh. His laugh was like before, more like heavy, wheezy breathing.

"Try it, _ghoul_, just try it," Lesko hissed. From where he stood, partially turned, I could see that his coat was bulging in the back, with a length of nasty scratches raking their way down.

Raul's upper lip twitched into a deeper scowl, his moustache mirroring his silent response.

"Okay, Lesko," I soothed, beginning to make a slow, wide circle around him. "We'll get your Moleroaches. Right now, in fact. How many are we talking about, here?"

Lesko squinted at me, for a moment confused. Then he regained his composure and took off his glasses, dropping them carelessly to the floor. "Fifteen," he said bluntly.

I nearly barfed right there. "That's an awful big number."

"I'm going to need a big number if this is going to work properly," he answered defiantly. By now, I was at his left shoulder, still moving slowly and steadily.

"Then we're going to need fifteen bags, aren't we? As well as fifteen things of bait. Would you be willing to supply us with that?"

Now Lesko was mirroring Raul's scowl. "Drop it to seven specimens, then. We'll work small first, yes, we will. You should find enough bait lying around the room, as well as the bags that can be found in the doors over there." He took a step forward as he pointed, stepping on his glasses and crushing them to bits.

Raul had not relaxed his arm, but Lesko showed no signs of fear to the gun aimed at his head. I signaled for Raul to retrieve the needed supplies, and after much hesitant looks flashed my direction he obliged, still managing to watch Lesko curiously from the corner of his eye. The doctor looked suddenly worn out; his shoulders drooped, and he stood, leaning against his table, breathing heavily.

"Dr. Lesko," I murmured in the most soothing tone I could muster. I outstretched my arm to his back. "I think there is something wrong. Can you tell me if something is wrong?"

"**_Nothing is wrong,_**" he growled back. "I'm on the brink of incredible scientific discovery."

"I understand that part, Lesko," I continued, noticing that my outstretched arm was trembling. "I just want to help you, you know—"

He reached into the folds of his lab coat, drawing his own pistol. Still facing away from me, he hunched further over the table. "If you want to help me, go get my Moleroaches."

I bit my lip, eyeing his gun, which I supposed was a 10mm, like Raul's. "Alright. Yes, we'll go get your Moleroaches. We'll be back soon." I shot Raul wild eyes, mouthing '_hurry up!'_ He returned a gruff look of his own before grabbing an armful of ant meat lying on the nearest table. I gestured insistently for him to follow me out the door to the bunker. He soon joined me at the shoulder, and as soon as the metal door closed behind us we gazed at each other with frightened eyes.

"Why didn't you shoot him?" I asked. "You had a perfect shot and you could have taken it."

"I'm not an idiot, boss," Raul muttered gruffly. "If we kill him, we won't be able to get out of this God forsaken place. It's best if I just follow your lead and do my best not to be eaten alive." I nodded, both agreeing with him and still wishing he had taken the shot. I took the fistful of bags he had grabbed and looked at them sourly as we continued to walk back up to the fenced-in entrance. "Looks like Atom hates both of us today, eh, boss?"


	25. Chapter 25

I would have finished this chapter sooner, but I was very busy knitting my boyfriend's christmas present. You see, I wanted to be "cool" and "creative" this year and _make_ everyone presents. Because of this notion, I decided that the best present I could possibly knit my boyfriend was the Doctor Who Fourth Doctor Scarf. For all you Doctor Who fans, (I have never seen Doctor Who myself, but I'm so awesome that I researched it for him) you know that this particular scarf is really f*cking huge. So... I've been knitting three stripes a day, and decided that today was as good a day as any to stop working on my quota and finish this chapter.

It's a good thing that he doesn't read this fanfiction, especially since he's been trying so hard to figure out what his present is.

But anyway, here's your chapter and the end of the crazy Lesko quest. I'm thinking I'm going to go back to Grayditch later on in the series, but I'm glad to be done with it for now.

* * *

"I say we deserve some form of payment," I panted, kicking each specimen through the door. "My goggles are gone. My shoulder armor is ripped. My hat was used as a chew toy. Raul used the rest of his ammunition. His shoes are ripped beyond repair. We're both lucky not to have our arms gnawed off."

Lesko observed each squirming bag dripping with green ooze. "Have you finished?"

I sniffed defiantly. "We almost died a horrible, excruciating death, buried beneath five tons of pink flab and green gunk shit."

"You nearly suffocated each and every one of them again. I do not believe this endeavor is one deserving of compensation."

I clenched my fists, feeling my face flush a fuming shade of red. "I told you before that if they didn't ooze that green whatever, they wouldn't be suffering! Now, we have been with you thick and thin—"

There was an explosion emitted from Lesko's gun, and Raul cried out in pain, dropping to the floor. I shrieked, falling beside my companion. Raul was clutching to his side with a heavy grimace. From underneath his hands his dusty blue jumpsuit was already darkening with fresh blood.

"I have to ask you to be silent now. My work henceforth must be done with absolutely no distractions. Any sudden movement or noise will make all of your so-called contributions in vain."

"You son of a bitch!" I grabbed the empty pistol in Raul's belt before remembering that it had no bullets.

"Pathetic name calling will not make this any easier," Lesko continued, gathering the knots holding back each captive into one hand and beginning to pick at said knots with the other.

"What do you think you're doing?!" The Moleroaches in each bag seemed to sense that freedom was close and began to wriggle faster. "Let them out in your hatchery or something—are you crazy?!"

With a dramatic sweep of his arms, Lesko took a step back from the Moleroaches squirming out of their bags. I couldn't tell whether his contorted face was showing horrible grief or obsessive affection as he groaned softly to them, "Yes, come on out my dearests… You are welcome here… home…"

The Moleroaches didn't have to be told twice. They swarmed around Lesko's feet, already oozing green slime from their skins. The occasional, gentle skittering heard in the wall was now frantic scratches already trying to dig their way into Lesko's bunker. Raul and I were frozen in shock. Lesko didn't seem to realize that he was in immediate danger; he stood there, with open arms, beginning to sob to his 'dearests' that were climbing up his legs. One of them opened its mouth wide around his left and bit down hard.

Lesko froze then as well, a new, surprised look on his face. Another pair of tusks dug into his right leg, followed by another, and another. "Ah…" he murmured, still more out of surprise than in pain, staggering to hold the weight of each Moleroach ripping into his flesh. Looking down, he seemed to finally realize his grave mistake. I could feel Raul grasping onto me tightly to lift himself to his feet as Lesko began to shriek in full pain. The Moleroaches dragged him downwards, and he flailed to grab onto anything he could, spilling clipboards and glass onto the floor. From the back of his lab coat slithered something long, slimy, fleshy, and brown, and Lesko's shrieks increased in both volume and pitch. The Moleroaches were on top of his thrashing limbs, and Raul began to insistently pull me up. I realized that he was repeating _boss_ over and over again, trying to get my attention.

"Boss, we have to leave now!" He half dragged me out the metal door to Lesko's bunker.

"We can't make it out of here alive!" I gasped back, finding my footing to stand on my own.

"We still have to try," the ghoul firmly pushed me forward, towards the entrance. "I'm not dying in here after I spent all that time moaning about how bad I had it in Black Mountain, boss. It'll make me look like a wimp up by the pearly gates; they might not let me in."

"Maybe I shouldn't have graffitied Atom's church," I gasped as I heard a sudden roar of Moleroaches breaching the wall. Glancing over my shoulder, I didn't see any hordes following us.

Raul noticed my panicked, careful watch behind us and said, "They must all be after Lesko, boss."

"What the hell was that guy thinking?!"

"Keep asking me questions like that, boss. I'm a fortune teller and have all the answers."

"There was another creature in there… did you see it? What in Atom's name was that?" I stopped looking over our shoulders in order to ensure I didn't fall up the stationary escalators. "How are we going to get past the swarm waiting outside the gate?"

"Maybe we'll be lucky and they'll be crawling through the walls to get to Lesko."

"You know," I said crossly. "On our way in you were being cynical as hell."

Not for the first time, Raul's 'maybe' statement was wrong. The gate was being gnawed upon by Moleroaches piled one on top of the other, creating a few sizeable holes almost large enough for them to squeeze through. I looked around, praying for another door to open magically and give us a new route, but all I saw was the rubble and trash on the floor.

"Raul?"

"I love you too, boss."

"No, that's not what I was going to say." I bit my lip, using it as a distraction from my stomach that was tied in knots. "They're all after Lesko, right?"

"Seem to be, boss."

"Then… as long as we're not in their way, they shouldn't go looking for us." I stooped down to feel at the piles of ceiling tile pushed up against the wall. "What if we buried ourselves in this trash so that they couldn't see us? Could we wait it out?"

"I certainly hope so, boss," Raul said, dropping to his knees to gather up as much rubble as he could manage. "I don't have any better ideas."

As soon as we covered ourselves in dust, tile, and discarded tin cans, the Moleroaches began to horde the hallway. Raul and I lied there, looking at each other, so close it would normally be uncomfortable for me to breathe his stench. I didn't notice the smell of rotting flesh since my lungs seemed to have stopped working in my fear of being caught.

It sounded like a stampede of brahmin rumbling over the linoleum floor, with the occasional shriek of pain as I assumed they trampled over each other to make their way through. After what felt like hours, I took a chance in speaking first.

"I think I found a bottle cap."

"Good for you, boss, now we can die rich."

The trampling began to quiet as the Moleroaches flooded into the rest of the metro station. When the hallway became silent, Raul and I remained under our rubble blankets for a few more minutes.

"Your eyes are very green, boss," Raul muttered awkwardly.

"You don't say."

"I do." He shifted his head so the trash slid off and looked around. "Our coast is clear, boss. I think we either made it or died a swift and painless death."

"If this is death, then maybe I should go back and graffiti the church a little more," I sat up. There were a few bodies of Moleroaches, practically flat as pancakes from the excited feet of their peers.

"I don't know about you, boss, but I'm getting the hell out of this place." He stumbled to his feet, shaking what was left of the rubble still clinging to his clothes and peeling skin. Clutching to his side injury, he began to shuffle to the gate, which had a gaping hole at the bottom. I followed, pausing to stop at one of the trampled Moleroaches.

"I'm taking this," I announced, opening up my bag.

"I don't think I want to find out what it tastes like," Raul muttered, eyeing it.

"Not for eating," I answered, shoving its mangled body into the leather pouch. "I want to rub it in Moira's face that we deserve more pay than she's going to give us."


	26. Chapter 26

Merry late Christmas, everybody. Congradulations. A chapter of nothing. I was going to combine this chapter of nothing with the next chapter of mostly nothing but slightly something, but it ended up being a lot longer than expected. As usual with chapters of nothing. Transition nothing chapters! Hooray.

If anyone still has any suggestions of anything they would like to see in this-aliens, robot invasions, romance, you name it-let me know because I love my fans. And that's only halfway the creepy kind of love.

* * *

Megaton was the most beautiful sight we had laid eyes on. Its dirty, rusted airplane walls gleamed a greeting in the sunlight. The securitron wearing the hat outside greeted us with a hardy _"Thirsty partner? Try Moriarty's. Coldest drinks in the Capital Wasteland."_ Even the sniper standing vigilant on top of the walls that I hadn't noticed before gave us a welcoming wave—or perhaps he was swatting at a mosquito.

"You know… even though Moriarty apparently pisses in his drinks, I think I wouldn't mind having one right now," I sighed contentedly as I pushed open the metal gates.

Raul was wheezing behind me. He had struggled to keep up the whole way, even though I made sure to slow down for him. "I know what you mean, boss. Maybe after Moira gives us some caps we can go get a drink, eh?"

We both shot grins at each other, wistfully thinking of a cold drink sliding down our throats. "Sounds like a plan… but we might need to get you a doctor first."

"Who needs a doctor?"

"Jesus, Arcade," I gasped. "Don't just… appear like that."

Arcade pushed up his glasses, already assessing the damage to Raul's side. "I've been waiting here for a while. Occasionally I walk from here to Confessor Cromwell to hear what insanity he's preaching, but you guys worried me sick. Why were you gone so long? Is that a bullet wound? I thought you were clearing out Radroaches."

"Long story short," I began, taking out the trampled Moleroach from my pack.

"What is _that?_"

"This," I told him, holding it up like a trophy for him to see. "Is what Moira and Dr. Lesko used to screw us over with. Or rather, Dr. Lesko made them, and Moira told us they were normal Radroaches. These things drove us up against a corner alongside Dr. Lesko, who went bonkers, shot Raul, and killed himself with his own creations. Now, Raul needs a doctor, so I need to head up to Moira—"

"No need," Arcade said, gesturing for us to follow. "Doc Church owes me a favor."

"Say what?" I asked, guiding Raul down the steep steps.

Arcade glanced over his shoulder. "I've been helping out at the Megaton Clinic. Doc Church hasn't paid me yet, so I'm sure he can help Raul with no charge. Besides… he might be a little rough around the edges, but the man's got talent and compassion. You see," the closer we got to the little building by the man with the brahmin, the louder Confessor Cromwell's rant got. It sounded like he was preaching the exact same thing from the last time we had entered the city. "When you two left, the rest of us scattered to find some work to get us through the day. I went to Doc Church, Boone helps out Stockholm up on top of the wall there—see, he's up there now—and Benny… I have no idea where Benny ran off to, quite honestly."

Raul and I looked to the top of the wall, where, sure enough, the silhouette of Boone sitting in a chair with a sniper in his hand was visible. "Looks like he _was_ actually waving at us, boss."

"Of course he was. He loves us."

"It seems as if you two bonded quite well over your little adventure," Arcade said mildly, holding the door of the Megaton Clinic open for us.

"Yes, we did, and when I see Moira I swear I'm going to bash her brains in. Albeit verbally."

Inside the clinic, an African American man was sitting at a dirty old table, scribbling down things onto pieces of paper with a yellow pencil with one hand and stroking his snow white moustache with the other. When we entered, he didn't bother to look up. "Less'n you on deaths' doorstep, I'm busy," he said bluntly.

"Hi, Doc," Arcade said just as stiffly. "I thought maybe you could give me a hand with my friend, who was shot."

At Arcade's voice, he looked up and mildly observed Raul's bloodstain on his shirt. "Oh," he said, and set down his pencil. He stood and continued, speaking to Raul and I. "I'm Doc Church, and I run this clinic. Now, before you go askin' me for help, you'd better know the rules. Rule one: don't bother me. If you do bother me, you better be damn near dead. I'm busy enough takin' care of people I actually like. Follow my rule, I'll keep you patched up, I'll keep getting paid, and we'll get along just fine." He lightly grabbed a clipboard from the stack on the corner of his table as he passed us into the next room. "This time, I'll make an exception, since Arcade is one of the people that I actually like, and I seem to owe him a favor." He gestured for Raul to take a seat on a medical bed pushed up against the wall.

"What did you do to get him to owe you a favor?" I whispered to Arcade.

"I told you. I worked for him."

"We've only been gone a day or so. How much did you work, exactly?"

"Boone has his own sniper rifle already," he said mildly. "It just takes a little dedication to the trade, is all."

Doc Church closed the door to his shack for privacy. "I'm going to head over to Moira's," I began to turn to the door when Arcade grasped my shoulder.

"What about you?" he asked. "Are you hurt?"

"Luckily, no," I answered, suddenly aware of how close he was. He smelled clean, like he had recently taken a bath somewhere, and my nose welcomed the scent compared to Raul's. "Lost my goggles, though, and I nearly died several times, but I have luckily come back physically unscathed."

He nodded, but glanced me over, as if he feared I was lying. "I'm going to stay here, finish up business with Doc Church and Raul. Before too long, though, I'd suggest calling Boone down and finding a room for all of us to stay in."

"Fair enough," I nodded, turning towards the dirty, rusted door before mumbling, "I'll see you later, then."

Moriarty's Saloon was definitely a bar. A roaring one too, at that. As soon as the door was pushed aside, a balding man in leather armor fell on top of me, blasting the scent of alcohol in my face as he went. "Weh, my door turned ina to… pretty lady," he slurred, grabbing at my padded shoulders for balance. "We-we-why you got… so many _clothes_ on? I thought you wer… o'r that way…" And with that, he calmly stumbled out to the end of the platform holding the restaurant up, peeked over the railing, and hurled. I watched him grimly, closing the door behind me to make sure I didn't have to find out if his body followed his vomit down to the ground quite a distance below.

The bar was filled with boisterously drunken chaos. Peppy songs were playing on a radio that couldn't be seen through the crowd swarmed around the table—at the midst of which sat Benny, dealing cards.

"You sure you want to take this shot, buddy, ol' pal?" he grinned up at a man clenching his fist in frustration.

"Double or nothing," said the man, and another man beside him bearing an eye-patch and a red bandana wrapped around his head laughed.

"What he means to say is that you've got the double, and he's got the nothing!"

"Shut up, Billy," grumbled the man. "I'm giving this one more try."

"You're crying in the rain, paly," Benny said, but his fingers dealt the cards with precision. "You're gonna owe me so much when you wake up hung-over tomorrow."

"Just go slower this time; I still have no idea how this game is played."

"I've explained it to ya enough to swell your head to a blimp," Benny laughed. "Ghoul-man, can I get another glass over here? Just take a handful of caps that I won from this fellow, yes, there you go. Now buddy, trust me, Caravan's easy-peasy. The goal is to form three tracks of cards—like caravans, ya dig? Each track falls between 21 and 26. Hey, hey, buddy," he snapped in front of the man's face. "You still here with me? Come on, this is easy. Go over 26, you're busted, you get a Jack or Joker. Aces low, face cards are zip, Kings, Queens, Jacks, Jokers only give special impacts on the cards. Let's try another round to see if you can figure it out this time."

"Benny, have you been here the whole time?" I strode up to him, breaking him out of his trance.

He spread his arms wide in welcome, leaning back in his bar stool. "Ah, Lydia, baby, good of you to join the Ben-man, eh? You know how to play Caravan? Of course you know how to play Caravan; you lived in the Mojave your whole life. Come on, girl, teach this man how to play right."

"I don't know how to play Caravan," I admitted.

"Don't know how to—why, I'm impressed, girly. Hello." He turned away and began to discard his cards. His opponent tried his best to awkwardly mirror his movements. "To answer your question, honey, yeah. I've been supplying entertainment for all these warm hearted people," he winked at a woman standing at the wall on the other side of the room. She puckered her cherry lips the same color as her hair, and Benny acted as if he caught her kiss in his hand before putting it safely into his pocket. "The big man Mory-somethin loves me, doll-face. I roll the business in for him, and his ghoul brings me whiskey when I snap my fingers. You hear this music? To die for. I love it here already."

The man with the eye-patch—Billy—gave another hearty laugh at his companion. "Jesus, man, you're terrible at this."

"You didn't win against him either, Billy. Just shut up. Double or nothing again."

"True, but I stopped after that one match!" Billy patted his friend on the shoulder, glancing out the window at the darkening skies and the trails of Christmas lights flickering on to light the precarious floating platforms dotting Megaton's cliffs. "I had better head home to Maggie, guys. It was a pleasure to meet you, Benny," he gave the Chairman a firm handshake before standing to leave. On his way past, he dipped his head with a smile, saying, "And a good night to you, lady."

"Double or nothing," the man repeated.

"Double or nothing ain't how the game works, really," Benny said mildly. "Tell you what, paly. You come back here tomorrow and maybe we can have another match. Sound good? I'll hold onto these caps for you, and then we can have some quality time together when you're sober."

The man looked dejected, but got up to leave all the same. Benny gathered up the sizeable pile of caps he had thrown on the counter, and the bar began to clear somewhat with the match over. A man with light-colored hair emerged from a room in the back as the ghoul behind the counter that I could see for the first time began to clean up.

"Here's your 5%, big man, like you asked for," Benny said, pushing a pile towards the light-haired man.

"You do yourself a fine job pulling in me caps," he praised with a heavy, stereotypical Irish brogue. "I think you should come 'round these parts more often, do me a favor. Is that the girl you were talkin' about? The one off getting herself killed doing Moira's bidding?"

"It's… a… pleasure to meet you," I tilted my head, wondering how much Benny had blabbed to this guy.

He extended a hand to me. "Colin Moriarty, at your service. Welcome to Moriarty's. My saloon, my home, my little slice of heaven in this backwoods little burg. If you've got the caps, I've got your pleasure. Please, sit down, make yourself comfortable. Your troubles are a thing of the past."

"Oh," I replied, noting that after he shook my hand he wiped his on his leather vest. "Actually, I need a room for me and my companions to sleep for the night."

"Oh, that kind of business is always welcome too. How many are you housing, then? I'm sorry to say we only have two rooms left available. Nova's entertaining quite a number of guests tonight." He eyed the woman with the red hair that Benny had winked at, and she scowled back at him before disappearing up the stairs.

I fingered my little bag of caps strung at my waist. "We're housing five tonight, but depending on the room size I'm sure we could fit them all into one—"

Moriarty cut me off with an emphasized hug, gesturing with one hand to the stairs that Nova had gone up. "My dear fella, where is your sense of hospitality? Your companions have been slaving all day; I'm sure they deserve a good rest in a non-crowded room. What would it hurt to satisfy their aching limbs with one more room?"

I bit my lip, knowing he was just trying to squeeze more caps out of me but also seeing his point. Eyeing Benny, I muttered, "Yes, they've all been slaving."

"That's right. And you, you're their leader, aren't you? You seem like a good-natured lass. A smart lass that knows what's best for her team, right?"

"You can stop with the flattery," I growled.

"Two rooms is four hundred caps. If you need a meeting point, the bar will be open all night for your uses—won't it, Gob?"

The ghoul behind the counter froze, a wet rag still on the table and an empty bottle of scotch in his hand. "Yes sir."

Moriarty held his hand out expectantly, raising an eyebrow at my dumbfounded expression.

I sighed, counting out the caps into his hand. He watched each one with hungry eyes, probably counting them in his head in case I tried to cheat him. After every cap was accounted for, he nodded for us to proceed in checking out our rooms for the night.


	27. Chapter 27

Jesus, guys, you read these things fast. Slow down a little, will ya?

* * *

"I can't pay for many more nights like this, guys. Just so you know." I eyed Benny tearing hungrily at his bottle of scotch. "And I don't exactly want to go out doing any more quests for Moira. I have a feeling that every one of them will be loaded with trouble like this one."

"A fair assumption," Arcade declared, resting his elbows in a crossed position on the counter. This position slumped him further down until he was almost Raul's size. "Four hundred caps a night will be difficult to scrounge up, though, unless everyone got a steady job and we decided never to eat again."

"Things are tough around here," Boone added. "Apparently after this Lone Wanderer guy kicked the can everything went downhill. Now everything anyone asks you to do has a secret motive to get you killed."

"Even you, Boone?" Arcade asked mildly.

"I had to snipe a f*cking bear before it killed a caravan outside. They call them 'Yao Guais'. I'd say they're little demons from hell." He snatched the scotch out of Benny's hand and took a sip before handing it back. "The caravan guard had guns too, you know, but it does nothing to those things."

"I haven't had any trouble yet," Benny frowned at his scotch like it was tainted now.

"You still didn't make enough caps to properly sustain yourself for a day," Arcade pointed out. "I didn't go out shooting any bears today, but it would seem that there are plenty of Lone Wanderer wannabes that don't seem to be quite as good at holding onto their limbs. Even we can only do so much."

"This Lone Wanderer fellow," I passed a Nuka Cola to Raul. "What's up with him? Why is he so important?"

Arcade must have gotten uncomfortable in his slumped position, and he straightened a little. "Doc Church said he came from a vault near here. Just… waltzed in and made everything better. He was kind of like us in a way, just looking for work. Everything he did was for the good of all. A saint, really."

"Disarmed the bomb," Boone grunted.

"He was also responsible for bringing the Capital Wasteland pure water, apparently. Seems like they had quite a problem with that." Arcade rested his cheek on his hand, leaning back down to the counter. "But they don't really know why he died. He just… disappeared as quickly as he came."

"Benny, don't drink too much scotch," I warned. "We still haven't figured out what we're doing tomorrow to stay alive, and I don't want to listen to any drunken plans."

"They'd probably be better than any plans I come up with, boss."

"Yeah, I know… Me too," I mumbled, resting my throbbing head on the table. "I suppose I _could_ do more quests for Moira, if that's our only hope. It's just… now she wants to 'observe the effects of Mirelurk lacerations and how long it takes for them to become infected.'"

Arcade's eyes narrowed. "You're not doing that."

"Okay. That's all I needed."

With no other ideas, the room lapsed into silence. The ghoul behind the counter—Gob—was fighting to keep his eyes open by sitting probably way too close to the radio blasting a song about a wonderful guy. As the song ended, the dj began speaking with much more enthusiasm than Mr. New Vegas ever displayed.

"'Cause one dog ain't enough, and two is too low, it's me, Three Dog! AOOO! I'm your friendly neighborhood disc jockey. What's a disc? Hell if I know, but I'm gonna keep talking anyway. Now, are you kiddos ready for your verbal newspaper of the evening?

"The Citadel is reporting that the Enclave _still_ have yet to give up. Watch your step out there, gals and guys, and always have that rifle cleaned and polished. The Enclave are _still not your friends_.

"Speaking of the Citadel, those folks have been recruiting as many new soldiers as possible—I guess they have to fill in the few thousand pounds of strength that the Lone Wanderer took with him when he vanished off the map. They told me to advertise them, and hell, who am I to deny? They say they're giving away lodgings of no charge to new recruits, as well as all the food you can eat. Hell, I'd join them, but then who would spread entertainment to all of the Capital Wasteland? My technician Margaret. And you kiddos don't want to hear her spit the news, trust me."

I pounded a fist on the table. "Holy shit, guys. Salvation just came to us on the radio, and his name is Three Dog."

Benny scowled. "I ain't a soldier, honey."

"It's our only plan so far, and I'd say it's a pretty damn good plan," I snapped. "Look. I'm soldier material. Arcade: soldier and medic. Boone: soldier. Raul: mechanic. Who knows, maybe they need a professional gambler, or a guy in a suit to stand in corners and talk Chairman Language. At the very least we could try it. It's soldier work too—no random attacks of Moleroaches or Yao Guai. Arcade's already treating patients with limbs blown off, I doubt it'd be any different. Free food, free lodging, pure water."

Boone eyed me gruffly, resting his arm on the counter. "And what happens when the Brotherhood of Steel learn that Arcade's family is Enclave?"

I froze, staring at him. _Shit._ I had forgotten for a minute that the black armor he wore carried his entire heritage. Arcade glanced at Boone with weary eyes.

"This is true," he sighed. "Just… you guys go on without me. Get a slice of the free life. I'll stay here, look after Benny if he wants to stay—"

"I'm not leaving you behind, Arcade," I interrupted gravely just as Boone opened his mouth to speak. I must have spoken his thoughts, for it closed again and he sat back in his chair, watching Arcade. The doctor looked up at me, his green eyes full of hopelessness.

"Lydia, just let it go, alright?" he said, his voice still strong and steady. "This is your guys' chance of getting a life out here, but the Brotherhood of Steel will kill me if they ever find out—"

This time Boone interrupted by standing abruptly and pulling his sniper rifle off his back. "I'd like to see them try." There was a moment of silence as everyone stared at Boone in bewilderment. He leaned down and clenched Arcade's shoulder with his fist. "I have a gun now, see? It'll be a bloody day when anyone else threatens my companions."

"You say that to the doc, but when anyone threatens _my_ life, none of you will sit, shake, or roll over, I guarantee it," Benny muttered, catching Boone's attention.

"You're not my companion," Boone growled back. "You're just some guy we stuck up on a cross before bringing him back down."

"Easy, guys," I stood, giving a sharp eye to both of them. "We don't want to kill each other off with petty disagreements. Boone, sit down. Benny, shut up. No one has any reason to raise a gun against you, which is why we don't worry as much, alright? Arcade, you're coming with us. If the Brotherhood tries to hurt _anybody_, I'm sure the rest of us will not hesitate to stand up, alright? Raul, do you think you're fit to leave tomorrow?"

"I walked to Megaton when the wound was still fresh, boss. I think I'll be fine."

"Then it's settled. We leave tomorrow. For now, we all need to get a good night's sleep. Who's sleeping with who?"

"I vote the ghoul gets a room to himself," said Benny.

"Well aren't we charitable," I said right as Raul mumbled, "Thanks. Love you too."


	28. Chapter 28

And we're off! To the Citadel! And a major plotline! Awayy!

* * *

Benny woke me up by rolling on top of me in the middle of the night. After pushing him off with no sympathy, I sat up to find Boone staring at the wall, one hand on his trusted sniper rifle.

"Can't sleep?" I asked.

Without looking at me, he answered, "I can only sleep every other night."

"Tragic." Glancing at the double bed, I noticed that Arcade was curled up in a ball, his head ignoring the pillow. _He really seems to like looking smaller than he really is,_ I mused. "I think I'm going to venture to Raul's room. Benny won't let me sleep tonight otherwise."

"Don't think that I won't do it."

I froze, looking at him in confusion. "Do what?"

The hand on the rifle twitched. "Attack. The Brotherhood. If they threaten Arcade."

The doctor looked so different without his glasses. His face seemed… soft and lacking. "I never doubted that."

"Good."

"He considers you as a good friend, you know," I murmured. "He trusts you."

Boone pulled his rifle onto his lap, stroking it softly. "He's too easy to trust."

I wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean. It made sense, of course. It seemed as if Arcade had run into many problems with trust, the Courier probably not the first. Though, I wasn't sure if Boone meant that he thought of himself untrustworthy or if he was just blatantly stating a fact. He was definitely a frightening man—always a gruff expression, brute strength, never revealing the emotion in his eyes—but I felt as if I could trust him all the same.

"Personally, he's like a brother to me," he said finally. "Little brother. Needs to be taken care of. Watched over."

"He told me that you don't care about anyone but your wife and the Courier."

"I don't," he said. Then, after another long pause, he added, "but I care about him too."

_That makes total sense._ "Tell me about your wife, Boone."

"Her name was Carla. I shot her in the dead of night when Legion came to take her away from me."

"That's… very tragic."

"Hm." The hand stoking his rifle paused and he glanced in my direction. "You should get some sleep. Should the Brotherhood decide they don't want us around, I don't want to be the one to drag your tired ass back here."

I clenched my jaw grimly. "Likewise, I guess."

"We could follow the river down to the Citadel this way, boss," Raul announced while I played around with the item sensors. I picked up my box of Danny Boys, causing the "Danny Boys added" icon in the top left before putting the box back down. "And if you don't want to eat those apples, boss, I'm sure someone can take care of them for you."

"Get off my back, Raul, I'm just messing around…" I opened the box, releasing the fruity smell as Raul fiddled with more buttons and dials on my Pip-Boy. "Say, Arcade… you didn't sell your helmet, did you?"

"Doc Church has been keeping an eye on it," he answered, forcing his feet into the metal boots again. "Just part of that favor he owes me."

"I wish I had someone that owes me a giant, never-ending favor…"

Raul took a step back from his tinkering. "I should think that Moira owes us one of those favors, boss."

"You'd think she would. Nope; all she gave me was a sizeable sum of caps and a pat on the back." I looked at what Raul had done and was immediately confused. "What is on my screen right now?"

"The radio, boss. I thought it was about time I showed you that you had one to begin with."

My mouth dropped open. "You mean to tell me that I could have jingle jangled for that entire stressful quest?"

"You're starting to sound like Benny on us," Arcade warned, and the Chairman paused in carefully styling his hair in the window to shoot him a look.

"But I got spurs that jingle jangle jingle," I protested.

"And I have a nine-iron on my hip if you end up abusing your radio privileges, boss. No playing it during all hours of the day, or singing along around the campfire, or luring in thugs by turning it on when you don't need it."

"Yes, please don't do that," Arcade sighed. "I've wasted enough stimpacks in my life on repairing crippled limbs after a giant firefight that started because of a radio trap."

"If it ever comes down to that, boss, I know a great guy that specializes in amputations. His name is My Pocket Knife."

I looked back and forth between the both of them, eyes wide in shock. "You guys aren't kidding, are you?"

Boone emerged from the staircase, his usual gruff, stoic expression on his face. "We should get going," he said.

Benny shot him an incredulous look. "Hey, hey, paly, you can't rush perfection here."

"We're walking to a military base, not staring in a fashion show."

"Boone has a point, Benny," I said mildly. "Why bother with your hair if the wind will just mess it up?"

He scowled at me. "Easy for you to say, doll-face. You get to wear a hat."

"And I assure you, I most likely have horrid hat hair. But I don't care. Because even if I did, the hat would go right back on and the hat hair cycle would continue." I stood, gesturing for everyone to collect their things. "Your hair looks fine, Benny, I promise."

"There's a lock dancing the jive on my face," he protested.

I grinned at him. "Tell it to get its spurs and jingle jangle then. Seriously, Benny, Boone wants to leave and I don't want to get a .308 to the face today, so we're leaving."

"Glad you see it my way," the sniper huffed. "What's our route?"

"Along the river," I told him. "I can see that you're itching to get out of here, so you can go on ahead and wait for us by the gate and we'll drag Benny down there when we can."


	29. Chapter 29

Following the river would have been a good idea if it hadn't been crawling with Mirelurks. Between the five of us, we managed to punch two of them until they retreated (the blow from Boone's rifle butt causing the said retreat), while a few bullets to the face from the sniper managed to feed us more Mirelurk flesh than we wanted to keep in our pockets. I remained in the lead position, with Arcade close by because I wasn't confident in my abilities to distinguish the difference between the slightly lightly colored line marking the river we were following and the rest of the green of my Pip-Boy screen. Boone hadn't acknowledged the talk we had the night before, just taking up the rear in his usual stoic silence. By the time we found the Citadel, the sky was clouding over with the threat of rain, and we began to dread having to walk back to Megaton should the Brotherhood reject us.

Outside what my Pip-Boy claimed was the Citadel sat two sentry bots, aiming alarmingly accurately at our heads as we approached. To boot, two soldiers dressed shoulder to toe in light bluish-grey armor eyed us, miniguns in hand.

"Is he enclave?" was the first words of the soldier with brown hair, in a blast-back style. He aimed his minigun precariously at Arcade, and behind me, I heard Boone tightening his grip on his rifle.

"No," I said slowly, watching the gun. "We found the armor on the ground. Thought we shouldn't just leave it for someone else to take."

The long, intimidating barrel of the minigun lowered. "I am Paladin Bael," he said. "I imagine you five are looking for a job."

"That we are."

"You have that look about you." Bael glanced at his helmeted partner. "Well, let's hear who you are, then. I need to file a report before I let you in." He set his minigun against the wall, and his partner handed him a clipboard and a pencil.

The sky above rumbled. "I'm Lydia, and with me are Raul, Boone, Benny, and Arcade. Now, is this going to take long? I don't want to sit out here in the rain while you—"

"—hold on a minute," Bael said gruffly. "What did you say?"

I clenched my jaw and looked at him a while, wondering which part he didn't hear. "I'm Lydia; this is Raul, Boone, Benny, Arcade. Then I… asked you if you were going to take long with the report."

Bael locked eyes with his helmeted companion, eyebrows raised. "Go get Lyons," he said. Without a word, the helmeted soldier turned and jogged through the entrance.

"That must not be good," Raul muttered under his breath.

"Stop being so pessimistic," I hissed back at him. "Who knows? Maybe our heroic endeavors against the Moleroaches spread already."

"Heroic endeavors? Boss, we ran for our lives."

It didn't take long for the soldier to return, trailing another armored soldier without a helmet behind him. "What do we have here?" she boasted loudly, blonde, ponytailed head held high. "State your names, all of you."

My eyes narrowed. _Maybe the third time's the charm._ "I'm Lydia. Raul. Boone. Benny. Arcade."

She eyed us, a hand on her hip. "Arcade? Is it the Arcade that we're looking for?"

"You were… looking for an Arcade?" I began to chew on the inside of my cheek as Boone pointed his rifle right at her head.

Unfazed, she raised her laser rifle at his. "We got an Enclave eyebot in our custody," she continued, glancing at me. "Its original purpose in the Enclave seems to have been overwritten by a pre-recorded message directed to someone named Arcade. I believe your other companions were mentioned in it too, though I've never heard your name."

"You seem pretty calm for a gun aimed at your head," Boone grumbled.

"We have the upper hand against wasteland dogs like you," she sniffed back. "One bullet even tries to hit its mark, the sentry bots will blast your ass with missiles." She waved at the other soldiers with her left hand. "Bring them inside. Maybe they can tell us what the damn thing means."

The two soldiers flanked us, and Boone slowly lowered his weapon. Benny looked uneasy around all the high tech, but Arcade was pale as a ghost. Catching me observing him, he tried to put on a brave face but only managed a grimace. I offered him one of my own, and Lyons took the lead.

"I'm Sentinel Lyons, of Lyons Pride," she babbled as we entered a courtyard. It was flooded with recruits shooting at targets, running laps, or dropping down for pushups. "Where are you all from?"

"We come from out west," I answered. "Out there, a faction called Caesar's Legion has taken over. I was just a scavenger, out wandering the wastes. I infiltrated their base for supplies, found these four, hijacked a Vertibird, and wound up here."

Lyons flipped to face me, walking backwards. "How did this Caesar's Legion get ahold of a Vertibird? Are they notorious for having them? Do they work with the Enclave?"

"The west has been cleared of all former Enclave," Arcade butted in, straightening his glasses. "The Enclave has been gone a long time. Everyone that was once involved in it is dead. The Vertibird… it must have been scavenged from an abandoned Enclave base, though its origins are unclear."

"So where were you four from then?"

"I was a researcher in Freeside, but when Caesar's forces took over the Mojave, I downgraded to a slave," he mumbled, looking away, at the ground, glaring at it like it was the one that wronged him. "Boone was a sniper for the New California Republic. Raul was a mechanic. Benny ran a casino called the Tops."

"Any idea who would want to contact you via eyebot, Arcade?"

His emerald eyes flickered onto her, still narrowed in a glare. "I have an idea," he said. "But I hope I'm wrong."


	30. Chapter 30

Happy Chapter 30, everyone! And thanks to all of you for reading everything I dish out. I love you. In the way that Benny loves everyone and calls them baby. I wouldn't hesitate to call you baby, audience. And that's not creepy.

* * *

They kept the eyebot in the labs, in a glass case in the center of the room that once held something much larger. On a table in front of it lay a pile of Tesla Cannons next to a robotic head that spoke when we walked past: _"Democracy is non-negotiable."_ Beside the case sat a man in a robe typing away at a terminal.

Lyons caught his attention by clearing her throat. "Run the sequence."

Arcade had turned a shade paler than he was before, which I didn't know was humanly possible. His widened eyes were fixated on a license plate nailed to the side of the eyebot that said "GREAT MIDWEST 2ED-E59 ILLINOIS 2062".

"That's ED-E," Boone said. "What is the damn thing doing here, of all places?"

"_Initializing message log,_" announced the eyebot, and the room fell silent. It gave a few beeps before continuing in the recorded voice of a man: "Arcade, it's me. I told ED-E to go find you, and I hope you listened to this instead of tossing him into a lake with explosives strapped to him. I'm going on the possibility that you turned him on first to at least hear what I have to say.

"Arcade, I'm sorry. Alright? You have no idea how sorry I am. I know what I've done. I turned the tides of this war to the wrong side. In fact, I gave you to them in order to do so. I treated you like an object, Arcade, and I shouldn't have. In my head, it worked out so perfectly. It was part of a bigger plan. I just assumed that you would know me—trust me enough… no, I assumed too much. I should have just told you everything. I hope that we can meet again soon, clear all of this misunderstanding up. I'm coming over there, wherever you are. I'll have a few scouts with me, but Arcade, it's okay. I promise you: you can trust me. I ask you—no, I'm begging you, Arcade. Give me another chance to prove myself to you. You have Raul there; tell him to add another log, and then let ED-E go. He'll come find me, and I'll come find you. We can sort this out, and if you don't want the others there, that's fine. If you want Boone to tag along, or Raul, or—hey—even Benny, I don't mind. This misunderstanding involves each of them and I can easily explain myself and my careless actions to them also."

"That son of a bitch," Boone growled. "That lying, snake-tongued, back-stabbing son of a bitch." He snapped his attention on the doctor, observing him closely while clutching at his sniper rifle until his knuckles turned white.

After a short pause, the eyebot continued. "If you don't send ED-E back, Arcade, I'm going to assume that you're in grave danger. I _will_ come find you myself. And my group will contain more than just a few scouts. I know you don't want that, Arcade, but you're a smart man. That's why I love you—"

"Turn it off," the sniper said in bewilderment, sunglasses still fixated on Arcade, who was motionless, a marble statue with trembling hands. Boone's head whipped around at the Brotherhood soldiers all watching silently. "Turn it off!" he cried, louder, and when no one listened he shrieked, "For God's sake, turn the damn thing off!"

The narrator ended his log through clenched teeth. "—and that's why I know you'll do the right thing. Especially since you know that I won't hesitate to bring the entire _god damned Legion army_ if I have to.

"Goodbye, Arcade. I'll see you soon."

Benny approached the doctor, who was still staring wide-eyed at the eyebot. "Hey, Clyde? Daddy-O?" Boone and Raul shuffled closer to him on instinct, but he didn't seem to see anything other than ED-E in his case.

"I need somewhere to sit down," he barely managed to whisper, his voice trembling almost as much as his hands.

I looked at Lyons, who was standing by, eyeing the scene before her. "Is there somewhere we can go? Talk about this? A quiet place?"

She crossed her arms, watching the doctor as his legs also began to shake. I grabbed onto his shoulders in an attempt to keep him from hitting the floor. After a while, she shrugged. "The meeting room should be open." She turned and began walking towards another set of stairs. "And if it's not, it can be open in a matter of seconds."

Arcade managed to coax his legs into motion, still standing upright. However, with every step he took, his face took on a new color: green. At the stairs, he clutched at the railing for dear life, pulling himself up slowly.

"I'm guessing that means we found the right Arcade," Lyons called over her shoulder, impatiently gesturing for us to shuffle into a door she opened. "Normally, something like this wouldn't have worried us. Though, there comes a little need for concern when the message is given on an Enclave eyebot and includes threats of bringing an entire army to the Capital Wasteland." She closed the door behind us, and Raul helped Arcade into a seat. "That means that there is a possibility that you five are Enclave spies—"

"Sweet Dannyboys, we're not Enclave spies," I sighed, lowering myself into a chair.

"ED-E is an eyebot that was reprogrammed by our last leader," Boone added, preferring to stand. "The Courier sent him here to shoot us in the back a few more times before calling in all his Legion dogs to infest the territory."

Laying his head on the desk, in front of a stack of papers, Arcade was whispering into his arms. "When he says he'll bring the entire Legion army, he _means he's going to bring the entire Legion army._" He lifted his head momentarily. "I have to answer back, set ED-E out to find him again. If I don't, then he will not hesitate to enact the scorched earth tactic onto the entire Capital Wasteland if he has to."

Lyons set her gun onto the table and sat down. "Let me get this straight. There's an asshole with an army out back west that is willing to set them loose on us if he can't get his hands on you."

"Yeah," said Boone.

She scowled at all of us. "Then what's to stop me from killing you all right now? Or handing you over to him?"

"We're innocent people," I objected. "We haven't done anything to hurt you or your damn Brotherhood. We're not with the Enclave. We're not petty raiders or thieves or thugs. We came here to help, to make a life for ourselves." My hand curled into a fist on the table, reflecting the hot emotion boiling in my chest. "What's to stop _you_ from handing a few civilians over to the Enclave? Or soldiers? You're supposed to help people; that's what you do, isn't it?" I gestured to Boone with his sniper rifle, Raul with his pistol, Arcade with his armor. "We are able bodies. We can help you; we can work. We may not have the best supplies for it, but we have the initiative and the nerve." Her dark eyebrows remained furrowed impassively. I bit my lip before continuing. "There's nothing to stop them from coming anyway were you to hand us over. In fact, we were supposed to come here to begin preparations to take over the entire Capital Wasteland as a flanking approach to the Midwest Brotherhood. Or, rather, _I_ was supposed to. When I went on that supply run at the Fort, I was caught, bargained with. I could hold onto my life if I followed orders. Instead, I took this small group and a Vertibird and escaped. We're refugees, looking for solace. They were going to come anyway, now they really are coming, but we can still help you fight against them. Put us to work. We can be more use to you alive than dead."

"Your orders were to attack us or die," she confirmed with pursed lips.

"Not attack, really. Infiltrate, more like. Set up a perimeter so that other people could attack…" I already regretted saying anything about my part.

Lyons put a hand to her earpiece. "You admit to having relations with this Legion, then? All of you?"

"Yes, but none of us went willingly—"

She put up her other hand to stop me. "You admit to being given orders to infiltrate our defenses in order to let this Legion army in?"

"Yes, I did, but I didn't—"

A stern look accompanied the hand now. "And you confirm that because you are here, this Legion army is on its way—"

"—if we don't make contact—"

"—the recording said that even with contact, scouts would be sent to the area. Now, is this army, or is it not, coming?"

"It is."

She tilted her head, indicating she was speaking to the other line of the earpiece. "I think we have enough evidence to bring these five in."

"But—"

"Send a copy of this log to my father if he doesn't like the idea. These five are terrorists to the Brotherhood. I'll take this one down. Send someone to come collect the rest."

"I'm not being taken in by damn armored dogs like you," Boone growled, taking out his sniper again. "Hell, most of us didn't do anything at all—"

"They're hostages." Boone fell silent, sternly watching me through his sunglasses. I took a deep breath, glancing at the rest of my companions before returning to Lyons. "I took them with me, against their will—"

"Boss—"

"—Raul, please. Lyons, these four have nothing to do with any of this. I'm the one who got the orders; I'm the terrorist. You should only have to take me into custody. The rest of these people are just refugees, like I said."

Lyons leaned closer, towering over me with glowering eyes. "You have guts," she said. "You still need an excuse as to why the message was for Arcade and not you, if you're the only one involved."

"Easy," I answered, but my voice wavered. "Hostages are weak-minded. They'd do anything to get out of their situation. Including making contact with the Courier in exchange for empty promises of something to go back to. Take me, but don't take them. I'm the terrorist."

She put her hand to her earpiece again. "Change of plans, boys. It'll just be the one going down. The rest are going to need some food and shelter."

"You're profoundly insane," Arcade told me frankly. "You don't have to do this."

"If I'm not doing the right thing, then give me a better alternative." I grimaced. "I'll be okay. You guys have to work with the Brotherhood, though. We can't let the Legion expand their borders anymore; I think we can all agree with that." From the corner of my eye, Boone nodded approvingly.

"Boss," Raul piped in. "I didn't know going down like a hero alone was really your thing."

"We'll get you out, Lydia," Boone grunted.

Benny spoke for the first time. "Baby, your style of getting her out of the slammer would probably make the rest of us terrorists too. If we can help her without the 41 flavors of stupid, I'm all for it, Clyde, but otherwise, count me out."

Lyons grabbed onto my shoulder, pulling me to my feet. "Come on. You've said your goodbyes."

"Thanks for the help, though, doll-face," Benny rushed to add before I was thrust out of the door. "I hate seeing you leave, but I love watching you go."


	31. Chapter 31

Hey audience. I'm trying my best to think ahead and not just write random slop spur of the moment stuff. If any of you want to see anything, let me know. This includes wanting more depth with one of the character's stories, or romance options, or even witty one-liners.

Speaking of character's stories... hey, look. A little more about Lydia's life. Cool.

* * *

Lyons shoved me into the cell, pulling the bars shut behind her. "You have guts," she repeated. "I like a woman with guts, but you're a terrorist to the Brotherhood all the same." She stood soldierly, eyeing me as I sat down on the hanging cot. "Not everyone would sacrifice themselves for their teammates."

I shrugged. "Not much of a sacrifice," I muttered. "They didn't do anything wrong. I was the one with the orders. It's either one or all that goes down. I would rather be the one."

"You'd be surprised of what others would have done in your shoes. I know more than a few that would point the blame on someone else to be the sacrifice."

"I didn't think of that," I admitted. "But even so, they are my comrades. I couldn't bring myself to condemn them like that." The room was dimly lit from flickering, humming lights in the hall above the sentinel's head. In the cells, there were no lights, so I was cast in shadows like a blanket. "You know I'm not a terrorist, don't you?"

"Terrorists don't usually wind up in your shoes often," she said, shifting her weight to her left leg. "Beaten, bruised. Your armor is tattered. You came to us for work with four others that look just as shabby. You have few weapons. You look like you don't eat very much."

"Then why hold me here when you know I'm innocent?"

She turned to leave then, resting a hand on one of the bars in my cell for a moment. "Just because I have a gut feeling doesn't mean I'm right. And just because you're innocent doesn't mean you're not a threat."

As the clanking of her metal boots began to fade, I leaned my head against the wall, hoping to find solace in the shadows. The blanket they cast was cold. The chill was a different feeling from what I was used to, from hunting fire geckos in the Mojave to survive. I sighed, part of me wishing I could go back to the stinging burns and teeth marks. Back to the dead feeling in my stomach, like I was cattle, knowing that I had to continue in one direction or suffer consequences. Back to living for myself—no, before that. Back to a family. When I spent nights late, out at the back of Atom's church, drinking beer and scotch and thinking _Atom, has the world gone to shit!_

"Atom, has the world gone to shit." I let a dry chuckle escape the back of my throat as I drew my knees to my face. "The least you could do is stop throwing things at me. I'm sorry I painted obscenities on your church. I get the message. Lay off, alright? I can only handle so much at one time."

My words were only confronted with the silence of the shadows, who insisted on giving me the cold shoulder.

* * *

_It stings. It burns._

_ The air is full of noxious gas. Smoke. The charred tang of life curling up, being licked out of existence by the orange flames._

_ It burns. It aches._

_ Sneers. Each face is twisted into calls, whistles. Another shot is fired. This one misses, lands around my feet. Scatters the dust swirling around my footprints._

_ It's hot. It oozes from between my fingers._

_ A pile in the middle of the street, where I used to play. I can still hear the calls of the man with open eyes, from before they had glazed over. Before they dried and began to melt from the flames. "Quis haec simia?" he would say. "What do you have to say for yourself?"_

_ "__**Father…**__" I whisper. My words echo in my ears, rising in pitch. The laughter of the woman with the blowtorch follows the climb, higher, higher, until it is a single ringing._

_ His hand is holding onto another. It is smaller, clutching to his with strength that apparently death couldn't even break._

_ Another shot, but this one isn't a warning, or play. It hits its mark, sends me down to my knees. I cough. Blood collects on the ground, hungrily eating at the dust. My right hand still clutches to my left, but the pain is now spread to my back._

_ It's hot. So hot._

_ The cold barrel of a gun presses against the back of my head, digging under the blonde hair._

_ "__**Tell me now why I shouldn't add your body to the pile.**__"_


	32. Chapter 32

I startled awake at the sound of a gentle voice. "Lydia," it repeated. "Are you alright?"

My head was heavy and my eyes felt hot, but I managed to sit up. "Oh. Hi, Arcade."

The doctor had both hands wrapped around a few bars, peering in. His shoulders seemed more relaxed and rested, but his eyes were swollen and red. "Sorry to wake you," he said quietly. "You seemed like you were having a marvelous dream."

"Yeah, thanks." I clutched to my aching head, stretching out my legs.

He offered a brief, sympathetic smile. "The soldiers said I could come visit you before we get started." He hesitated, darting his eyes to the ground before looking at me again. His voice was shaky and threatened to catch in his throat. "I'm going to send a message back to the Courier."

I stood, cautiously approaching him. From where he stood on the other side of the bars, he looked almost like a sad reflection. "You can't be taking any of this well."

"I'm not," he said simply, then sighed. "I know he was lying, but part of me wants to believe him. He used to be a good person, you know. Or, at the very least, he carried out actions that made him seem like a good person."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He gave a questioning look. "Do _you_ want to talk about your dream?"

"No. I don't."

He let go of the bars, allowing his arms to hang limply at his side, brushing against the black metal on his hip to fill the space of immobility. "There are things none of us like to talk about. Sometimes we should stay out of other peoples' business and just let them wallow in their troubles. That's why I'm not going to prod you about your past; you don't seem like you want to be prodded."

The tone of his voice sent a red flag up. "Did Raul tell you something?"

"I don't know, did he?" He crossed his arms, still trying to find an action to fill space. "There is a significant possibility that I may or may not know that your home life was burned to the ground by Raiders." Again, his arms fell. "I guess that makes us even, though. Payback for knowing my history with the Courier and various unethical post-military organizations, and what not."

I chuckled. "I didn't know you were a vengeful man, Arcade."

"I can be, when it deems necessary." His cheek twitched as he clenched his jaw grimly. "The Brotherhood are in no hurry to give you a trial by jury. No innocence until proven guilty, either. Fun bunch."

"The pinnacle of the United States government," I agreed. "At least I haven't been thrown into an arena and forced to kill a Ranger yet."

"No promises."

It was my turn to wrap a hand around a bar. The metal was like ice, and I longed to put my burning face against it. "What's everyone else doing, then?"

"Raul is setting up another log so I can rant to ED-E for a bit," he answered. "Boone's been going around threatening everyone he sees, and Benny…" He sighed. "Well, he's just being Benny, I suppose. Are you feeling alright? You don't look so well."

"Are _you_ feeling alright?"

"No. I'm not." He shook his head, looking away, back down towards the end of the hall where he came in. "What do I even say? _Hey, Arcade here. I've totally forgiven you for selling me into slavery and I'd like to talk…_?"

He was so tall, but his dejected slouch brought him almost to eye-level. The light over his head went out for a brief second before clinking back into existence. "I wouldn't say any more than I have to," I offered. "Otherwise, he would know that I was still hurting inside."

His head returned, and he put his brow against the nearest bar. "I'm sure he already knows that," he whispered bitterly. "No amount of witty responses or 'go fornicate yourself's will disguise me from him."

"I would really like to say that I'll be there by your side to help you every step of the way, but I'm kind of locked up." He didn't show signs of hearing me other than a small twitch of his cheek, the brief beginnings of a smile. "Would it make you feel better if I told you I'll be there in spirit?"

"Yeah, sure," he murmured, and straightened a little. His shoulders gave a slight pop as he went, and he grimaced. "I'm too old for this."

"I think you just have bad posture."

"So do you. The Brotherhood told me to give him the coordinates of a discrete location, so he doesn't nuke us all when we're not looking." He was close enough for me to tell that he had indeed been crying. There was a sharp pang in my stomach as I tried to imagine him breaking down somewhere. His swollen eyes looked stiff, and he kept his head lowered further than usual, like it was sore. Still, he did his best to look absolutely normal and unfazed, but little things stood out as anxiety—he didn't often meet my eyes, he continuously shifted his weight and moved his arms in the best distraction he could muster. "I figured he would turn to the Boomers for a way over here, since we stole the only Vertibird that I know of. And crashed it, I might add."

I considered bringing him back to his problems. I felt a desperate need to comfort him, make him believe that he really was going to be okay. Though, he had blackmail on me now. Any therapy session regarding his past would swing to a therapy session regarding mine. The threads of my dream still clung much too fresh in my mind. "So, definitely a significant chance we would have all been nuked."

He nodded sharply, and then blinked a few times, as if to clear his head. "Yes. After I give him the coordinates, I think they're going to have me go meet him. Most likely with guard, of course, but…"

"If you don't want to go, you shouldn't have to," I said quickly to fill the space he left from trailing off.

"The thing is, though… I want to go. I feel like I have to. I have an obligation to… hear any excuses he could have come up with…" he sighed, shaking his head. "But… I also feel like I'm going to need someone there with me. Someone that has a strong passion to protect my back but doesn't shoot anything that looks at them wrong."

"Well, I'm locked up in jail now, but if you can convince the Brotherhood to let me out, I could see what I could do about bartering Benny to tag along—"

He laughed, and the sound reverberated around my cell, a pleasant note. It was brief, more of a chuckle than a laugh, but it was still there, in existence. "Of course, Benny was who I was thinking of. I'll desperately need his Chairman language, incomprehensible whining, and…"

"Checkered suit," I offered. "You can't live without that sexy, checkered suit."


	33. Chapter 33

Hey guys. How's everyone coming along? Good? That's awesome.

I'm kind of flipping back and forth between writing this and writing my actual book book. Sometime, I'll post it on and tell all of you to come read it. Because I love you. And you love me. It's this mutual relationship that we have going on that means you'll love to read anything I dish out, right? Yeah...

* * *

"Hey, stone fox. I heard a little birdy say you think my suit is the bee's knees."

As Benny merged himself into the marching group, I raised an eyebrow. "Hi, Benny."

"Doctor gets real bugged real fast—nearly flipped his wig." He glanced over his shoulder to wink at Sentinel Lyons, who rolled her eyes. "That's all he let slip, though." He held a foolish grin in my direction for a while, as the armored, helmeted Brotherhood soldiers urged us down the hallway and through another set of steel double-doors. "You two owe be big time, you dig? If it wasn't for my suave influence, you'd still be in the slammer."

"Really?"

"As sure as the hide hitter's got a funky groove. I went right into the Lyons den and pulled out quite the cherry deal." He laughed gleefully at his pun. "They were set on not taking you along, you see, even though the big man sent back his eyebot saying he wanted to meet you."

"The Courier wants to see me?"

"That's how the man crowed it in his message log. Now, baby, about you owing me for convincing them you'd be a ring-a-ding tag-along…"

"What do you want, Benny? A high-five? I can give high-fives if you want one that badly."

He eyed me, that foolish grin stretching further into something rather creepy. "Let's just say you owe me one, doll-face. Don't forget it."

I kept my face impassive. "So, a lap-dance, then? You want a lap-dance?"

The soldiers separated us, forcing me into a room and closing the door behind them. The sentinel ushered me to a table that a Mister Gutsy was hovering alongside.

"Lydia," she said stiffly, forcing me to sit down on the table. "Meet Sawbones. Sawbones, Lydia. You two are going to be very well acquainted with each other in the next few seconds. After you're done here, come find me in that meeting room. Understand?"

I nodded cautiously, intimidated by the way she clenched her jaw at me.

"Please state the nature of the medical emergency!" cried Sawbones as she left.

One of the helmeted soldiers standing in the mass at the door answered with a chuckle. "Not medical emergency, you dumb robot. This is the tracking chip patient."

The Gutsy thought a moment, and then lifted a little device triumphantly in one of its robotic tentacle arms. "Medical procedures initiated!"

"Alright, doc," I grumbled, shifting uneasily in my chair. "I don't like needles, nor knives, or scalpels, or really anything to do with doctoral procedures. So, go easy on me, alright?"

I could hear a few Brotherhood soldiers snickering. Sawbones floated closer, latching a claw onto my arm to hold it still.

"Administering treat… ERROR, ERROR!" The saw hand sprang to life, jabbing into the flesh. I shrieked in reflex as the sharp pain began to flow with the blood, lashing my arms out at the hunk of metal and throwing my body off the table. The soldiers were in fits of laughter as the robot crashed into a little stand of medical supplies beside it, the saw still whirring but now stained red.

I scrambled to my feet, holding my now aching arm and feeling all the color drain from my face. "What the hell?!" I cried, but the soldiers were too busy doubling over, cackling. "Oh, yeah, this is really f*cking hilarious. Pinnacle of the U.S. government guys, good job."

Sawbones was having trouble getting back up from being knocked onto its side. "There has been an error in the medical subsystems…" Its saw finally stopped spinning and it lied very still. "Please run a level two diagnostic…"

"Get him back up," called one of the soldiers to another, still laughing.

"Oh no," I growled. "You're not getting him back up until someone fixes his subthingies."

The soldier in front got smacked playfully in the back. "Then fix his subthingies first."

"I don't know how to fix the damn robot, and you know that!"

"There has been an error in the medical subsystems… Please run a level two diagnostic…"

"That ghoul friend of yours is supposed to be coming over," sniffed another soldier, trying his best to suppress any further bouts of laughter. "He said he could fix it."

"You should have said Raul was coming before you let the damn robot slice my arm up."

The door was forced open, pushing aside the mass of armor as Raul bumbled into the room. "Don't start the medical procedure until I—oh, hi, boss. I guess they started the medical procedure, huh?"

I glowered at him. "Good timing, Raul. Next time, don't rush over here or anything."

"I'll do my best, boss." He shuffled over to the Mr. Gutsy with a wrench in his hands, knelt down beside it, and tapped it twice on the head with the tool. "Run a level two diagnostic of the medical subsystems."

"Command accepted. Beginning level two systems diagnostic. Please stand by." Sawbones then emitted a lovely piece of elevator music as Raul waited patiently. "Diagnostic complete. Results indicate a level seven degradation in neural pathway 0x63A82. No further information available."

"Close neural pathway 0x63A82 and reroute remaining functions, or _I'll do it manually_." The ghoul tapped on its head again.

"Neural pathway 0x63A82 rerouted through neural pathway 0x274E82. Stand by… Full motor functions restored. Diagnostic reveals no critical failures… asshole."

"Watch your tongue, mister." Raul gave it a final tap before looking at the rest of us in a triumphant beam. "Now if only the big guy was this easy. You should be fine now, boss. Sorry about the arm and all, but I got caught up in traffic on the way here."

Sentinel Lyons was facing away from me the moment I walked in, leaning against one of the desks arranged in a circle. A mug directly behind her was spewing steam, perhaps a cup of coffee. "Close the door." Her arms were crossed, and she kept her gaze straight ahead, at the doctor standing across from her with a soldier stiffly behind him. She didn't have her helmet on, like the sentinel. "Lydia, this is Star Paladin Cross, who will be accompanying you and Arcade on your way to the coordinates we gave to this Courier fellow."

"Hi Star Paladin," I gave a half-hearted wave, which she refused to return.

Lyons glanced over her shoulder at me. "Gather food and water rations for two and meet Cross at the entrance to the Citadel. She will put the coordinates on your Pip-Boy, and **if you think you can leave during this mission, that tracking chip will prove you dead wrong. Do you read me?**"

"Loud and clear," I whimpered.

Arcade tilted his head to the left, pondering. "Who's starving themselves on this trip?"

"Pardon?"

"You said rations for two," he gestured snappy hand movements, eyeing her curiously. "There are three people on this trip. Who's going without?"

"I am," Cross said gently, nodding. "I don't eat."

The room fell into silence as Arcade and I waited for an elaboration that didn't come.

I shifted awkwardly, muttering, "Alright. On that note, I say we get started. Don't want to keep the Courier waiting. First impressions and what not."


	34. Chapter 34

Sorry for the wait. I actually had this done a couple of days ago and I just was too lazy to post it. Thanks, have fun!

* * *

Star Paladin was alright in my books. Granted, she seemed to be capable of only processing thought about the task at hand and she was mysterious and blunt, but she was kind enough to carry a third of our provisions without complaint, so I convinced myself that she was cool.

She did have a super sledge, though, which _was_ cool. The more time we spent shuffling around in the dirt, following a little arrow on my Pip-Boy leading to the middle of nowhere, the more I _wanted it. Badly._

"So," I spoke for the first time in a long while. I waited for Star Paladin to acknowledge my presence with a nod before continuing. "How long did you train in melee combat?"

"Not long," said she. "I work best with guns."

I eyed her, trying to decipher whether she was joking or not. She looked straight ahead, showing no signs of clarifying. I glanced back at Arcade, who shrugged. "It's a shame _we_ didn't get any weapons to defend ourselves if need be…"

"It's easier to take you down if you're not throwing bullets in my direction."

"That's true…" I muttered. "But still, if we—"

"We shouldn't tarry long," she interrupted. "There is a foul stench on the wind."

Again, I stared at the back of her sarge-style haircut, debating whether she had been pulling our legs with the serious getup the whole time. She didn't seem like she was.

Arcade tapped me on the shoulder, pointing in front of us. "Hold on a minute, someone's coming."

I stopped in my tracks and followed his gaze. A man was running towards us, still quite a distance away, but he was sprinting with fiery intent. Star Paladin drew her super sledge, but a glance at my Pip-Boy displayed him as a green mark—non-hostile. He was waving his arms over his head frantically now, and I barely managed to hear him cry out to us.

"HELP! THEY'VE GOT A—"

His words were drowned out by a sudden loud **_BANG_** coming from the sky. The three of us jerked in surprise, heads snapping to follow the sound where a huge, hulking mass of metal hurtled downwards. In a heartbeat, it landed on top of the running man, uplifting the ground and spraying it in all directions. Star Paladin latched onto us, dragging us to the ground in a defensive crouch. Her armor clinked as a few smaller chunks of dirt hit against the metal.

When all was still, I pushed Star Paladin off me, managing to stand.

"Holy shit!" I cried. The sky metal was completely bent up on one side from the impact with the ground, but it was still distinguishable as a round disk. "That's a UFO!"

"Impossible…" Arcade muttered, standing slowly.

"That's… insane! What the hell?" I started towards it in shock when Star Paladin pulled me back by the shoulder.

She frowned grimly at me. "Don't go near it," she growled. "It's dangerous."

"It's a f*cking UFO!"

Arcade walked ahead, towards the wreckage. "We have to see if that guy is still alive."

"It's dangerous—"

Again, I pushed her away. "We have to see if that guy is still alive!" I repeated, running after Arcade.

The UFO seemed devoid of life, and a quick walk around its perimeter gave my Pip-Boy's tracker no tick marks, including the guy who was running at us, who we found pinned underneath the bent side. He was trapped from the stomach down, and his wide eyes were blank and unseeing. When I bent down to shut them, I noticed his weapon had survived relatively unscratched.

"No!" I said in disbelief. "Oh, sweet Dannyboys, it's a fat man!" I snatched it up with relish, looking around for any mini-nukes that might have also survived.

Arcade had found another weapon—a small pistol, with little capsules of glowing liquid scattered beside it. Star Paladin stood over us stoically, puzzling. "What had he said before all this?"

"'They've got a—' is what he said," the doctor murmured, pressing a button to open a compartment in the gun that held another glowing capsule.

"Whoever 'they' is and whatever they have…" I held up two mini-nukes in triumph, which Star Paladin eyed but said nothing over.

Arcade slipped his new gun into a holster compartment in the hip of his armor. He knelt down beside the dead man. "Whatever it was that scared him was something he didn't think he could take out by himself, even with two mini-nukes."

"That's not a very settling thought…" I whispered, opening up the bag that had once held water that we had drank on the road already. In it, I thrust one of the mini-nukes and loaded the second onto the huge gun. "Won't stop me from trying, though, I think."

"We're here to negotiate with the Courier, not blow up the map," Star Paladin warned.

"Sometimes you need to negotiate with your fist. Or, in this case, some mini-nukes—"

"**_No._**" Arcade narrowed his eyes sternly at me. "Don't make me regret going to Benny to get you out of jail. We're moving on. How far away is the location?"

I shrugged, turning a few dials idly on my Pip-Boy. "Hell if I know. I can barely read maps. But hey, if we keep going in the direction of this arrow thing, we'll get there."

"Then let's get there." He offered a hand to help me up. Star Paladin was facing away from us, looking off into the distance. "Are you ready to go, Star Paladin?"

"Behemoth," she muttered.

"_Gesundheit_."

"No," she said, pointing. "Behemoth!"

Looking over her shoulder, at where she was pointing, a little green speck was rising up from over the hill in the exact direction of our destination. Star Paladin roughly snatched up our arms and tossed us forward, where she continued to shove us in the opposite direction. Stumbling, disoriented, gathering a hold on my clumsy fat man, I failed to move at the speed she wanted me to, and she pushed again, shrieking hurriedly, "BEHEMOTH. RUN!"

I slipped on a patch of grass and landed face-first on a pile of metal shards. By throwing my hands out to catch my fall, I managed to preserve my face but I could feel the metal grinding against my Pip-Boy, digging into the screen. Turning back, I realized in horror that the small green speck I had seen was just the head of a super mutant the size of a two-story building. In its right hand, it clutched to a large pipe, at the end of which was fused a fire hydrant as big as both of its fists combined. It was advancing on us with murderous intent, and Star Paladin insistently pulled at my throbbing arm.

"Get UP, COME ON!"

Paralyzed, I managed to gasp, "I'm stuck!"

She looked at me, her brown eyes wide. Then she looked back at the super mutant closing in at an alarming rate. "Get her out of here and run for the location," she barked at Arcade. "You _must_ finish the quest!" She started forward, but I caught her wrist.

"What are you going to do?"

"Helping the people of the Wasteland is of the utmost to the Lyons doctrine," she said, and twisted out of my grasp. Drawing her super sledge, she added, "Run first, shoot with that fat man if you can. I'll run ahead; maybe I can distract it."

She darted forward as Arcade began digging at the shards of metal imbedded in my Pip-Boy. Sure enough, the giant super mutant—Behemoth, she had called it—caught sight of her immediately. She waved her arms anyways, beginning to circle around it, tactically eyeing a spot at its ankle where she could deal damage out of range of its attacks. Before she got far, the Behemoth raised its makeshift club above its head, bringing it down upon her. As the club connected to the ground where the paladin had been standing, the hydrant disconnected from the pipe, flying off sideways from the force.

"_Ruuhh,_" it growled, observing its broken club dismally before tossing it aside.

A small sound of horror escaped my lips, and I whispered, "Jesus… it killed her…"

"Get up," Arcade pulled at my shoulder. "She told us to run, get up!"


	35. Chapter 35

The ground shook with the impact of each step from the Behemoth, rattling through me and setting me off balance. My arms flailed in wide circles, trying to keep me standing. I could hear the reassuring sounds of Arcade's gasping breath, as well as the frustrated grunts of the Behemoth getting closer.

"Ah—Lydia!" Arcade cried suddenly, and I glanced over my shoulder to see him in the Behemoth's grasp. I froze, watching in horror as the monster raised the struggling doctor to its face.

"_Ruuh_," it grumbled in awe. "_Blaack… shhiny…_"

Arcade writhed as it turned him upside down, calling my name again. I urged my head to think,_ think of something…_

"Hey!" I cried, and pointed my fat man off into the distance, pulling the trigger. The mini-nuke barreled out of the gun, hitting the ground with a satisfactory explosion, which caught the Behemoth's attention. "Let's negotiate!" The monster looked down at me. "Do you like Big Boom? I can give you Big Boom if you give me Black Shiny, alright?"

The Behemoth bent down to better inspect the weapon in my hands, disregarding Arcade, still wriggling and beginning to turn red. "_Wh… whyy,_" it began, struggling to form words. "_Whyy can't… I kill you… smash your bones… take Big Boom and Black Shiny?_"

"Well…" I gulped, stuttering into the hulking green face. "I… I have to teach you how to use it, first. I won't teach you unless you give me Black Shiny."

"_Ruuhh…_" it inspected Arcade with sudden disappointment, and then gently set him down. The doctor was breathless, his cheeks bright red but his throat and hands ghostly white. "_Tea… Teach me… or I will… smash… your bones!_"

I fumbled with trembling hands for the other mini-nuke, holding it up for him to see. "First… you have to have a, uh, Little Boom. Alright?" At its nod, I continued to load the mini-nuke onto the gun. "Watch me carefully… You put it in like this… make sure it's secure. Then, you aim like this, okay? And after you fire," I looked at Arcade now, pointing the fat man directly at the Behemoth. "You run like hell. Understand?"

Arcade nodded, eyes still wide and face still stricken with terror. I looked back at the Behemoth, who was waiting expectantly. After a deep breath, I pulled the trigger again, and the mini-nuke barreled out, slamming into the Behemoth. The explosion rushed into my ears, replacing the wall of sound with utter silence as the Behemoth fell over, squirming and still very much alive. Arcade and I turned, willing up the strength to sprint away. The only thing I could hear was my own heartbeat in my head, and I had to constantly look over my shoulder to make sure Arcade was still there.

Off in the distance, the Behemoth stood back up, shaking its head and arms frantically, opening its mouth to bellow a bloodcurdling cry I couldn't hear. Arcade reached out and touched my shoulder, pointing. His mouth moved, but no sound came out.

"What?" I cried back, and suddenly the wall of sound returned—the shriek of the Behemoth, the thunderous stomps of its feet as it began to run, and Arcade.

"Up ahead! That's one of the Nellis Bombers!"

My gaze followed his hand, to an immobile black plane, resting in the open land. The door hatch in its side was open, and as we sprinted closer, we managed to make out a figure crouched in the doorway. He was dressed in a white suit with black pinstripes, and a black fedora with sunglasses blocking his eyes.

"Is that the Courier?" I gasped to Arcade.

"No," he choked on his own breath.

The figure gestured for us to come closer, drawing a long barrel of a gun with a little scope on top. "Into the plane, children," he soothed in a low voice, peering in his scope at the Behemoth rapidly approaching.

Before we managed to make it to the door hatch, the spiraled barrel of his sniper began to glow a pale green, and a shot the same color fired out of it, past us, to the monster in pursuit. The shot hit the Behemoth square in the eye, and the force barreled it over again. At the edge of the hatch, we froze, watching the super mutant as it crawled back to its feet, groaning angrily. It caught sight of the figure in the doorway, but instead of throwing itself into another rage, it made a low, growling whimper, and began to back away.

"Into the plane," the figure repeated gently, flipping his gun over his shoulder to the strap onto his back. "That Behemoth won't be bothering you two anymore." He offered me a hand and helped me up into the plane, doing the same for Arcade.

"Who are you?" the doctor gasped as he was lifted up.

The figure smiled, lowering his torso and tilting his hat for a low bow before straightening. "Why, child," he answered softly. "I am Mister Burke."


	36. Chapter 36

All of Mister Burke's movements were smooth and methodical. He glided Arcade over to a plump chair in front of a table, murmuring, "You look tremendously fatigued… just sit down right here, make yourself quite comfortable, put your feet up, I don't mind hardly the least. And you, my dear," he said, gesturing to the chair opposite, dipping his head respectively. "You should sit as well; you both must be quite shaken up."

I was trembling when I took the offered seat; I could feel the uncontrollable tremor in my legs when I bent to sit. "We were supposed to meet someone somewhere around here," I said, and grimaced when my voice emerged soft and wavering.

"Yes, the Courier, I presume," Mister Burke mused. "He has been taking his time with making himself look presentable for your meeting. You must be dearly exhausted, truly. Allow me to fetch you both a drink." He turned, beginning to stride over to a rather roomy kitchen area, complete with a refrigerator and several cherry colored cabinets.

"The Courier is here, then," Arcade whispered, his voice also failing. Just the word 'Courier' seemed to turn his skin a new shade of pale.

"Why, yes, my boy," Mister Burke returned shortly with familiar yellow bottles—Sunset Sarsaparilla. "And he has been very eager to meet the both of you."

Arcade took his bottle but refused to drink it, simply holding it tightly. I fumbled with the cap—it was a star cap, but I didn't really care—for a while before Mister Burke popped it off himself, handing it to me. "Our companion died on the way here," I oddly felt the need to say.

He offered a coy smile, and sat in the chair next to me, sighing in relief as he relaxed against the back. "It must have been tragic. I apologize profusely for the Behemoth—it was not supposed to be out running amok."

"It was your Behemoth…?"

He idly patted the armrest. "My dear, it was _our_ Behemoth. The combined genius of the Courier and I spawned the being meant to be this cesspool's salvation."

I took a small sip of the Sarsaparilla, finding immediate relief from the cold liquid sliding down my throat. "I'm not sure I… understand, Mister Burke…"

He leaned closer to me, and for the first time I noticed he had a certain sweet smell clinging to him, like cologne. "Not to worry, my dear. Anything you don't understand can be explained by the Courier himself."

"Lydia…" Arcade whispered, his face suddenly looking alarmed.

I set my drink on the table, moving to him. "Arcade, are you alright? You look terrible… here…" I managed to wrestle his cap off without help. "You should drink this or something…"

He didn't acknowledge the open bottle. "God, Lydia… I don't think I can do this…"

I sat on his armrest, patting his tense shoulder. "It's all right," I said awkwardly. "We're going to get through this together, and then head back and yell at Benny to make us feel better, okay?"

He shook his head. "I can't do this."

"_Minus solum, quam cum solus esset_," I reminded him. "And this time, you're not alone."

The doctor finally met my eyes then, the emerald finally gaining a little strength back. I tried to give him a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. Even so, his shoulders relaxed just an inch.

A door opened in front of us, revealing to us a new figure. He was less fashionably dressed than Mister Burke—a blue vault jumpsuit, carefully ironed to remove the wrinkles—but he held himself with a confident air that not even Mister Burke had seemed to carry. "Oh, dear," he said, stepping further into the light, slowly approaching our little party before resting his arm on Mister Burke's chair. "Mister Burke, I was not aware we had visitors."

"They were terrorized by our Behemoth," Mister Burke answered mildly. "I thought it wise to allow them inside, let them gather their wits again."

"Good call, Mister Burke," the newcomer said, straightening to plop himself down in the chair I was in moments before. "Hello, Arcade. This must be your new friend." He reached his hand across the table, giving me a cheeky grin. "Everyone calls me the Courier; I don't suppose I've had the pleasure."

I forced down a swallow, gingerly accepting his hand. Beside me, Arcade was still as stone.

"Good handshake, nice and firm. You know, handshakes can tell you a lot about a person," the Courier said mildly. "Thank you for coming here for our meeting, I suppose. Mister Burke, how did that Behemoth get out?"

"I believe a scavenger found himself a little too curious," the man answered without hesitation. "Though, it seems he acquired what he deserved… by natural causes. Or, perhaps unnatural. It all depends on the eyes of the beholder."

The Courier nodded in acknowledgement, surveying Arcade with a thoughtful hand on his chin, fingering the carefully trimmed black strip of facial hair. "Arcade," he chastised. "You're a shade lighter than a bleached brahmin skull."

Arcade stood sharply, nearly throwing me off the armrest. The forgotten bottle fell to the table, where it broke in two with a sharp _crack_, sending dark liquid running across the floor. The Courier stood in response, and the two of them stared at each other.

"He killed Daisy," Arcade said, and his voice suddenly had strength.

The Courier continued to stare calmly into Arcade's eyes. After a few seconds, I realized that Arcade had demanded the Courier explain the first thing on the agenda, and we were waiting for said explanation. The man drew a breath, and began slowly, "If I had been there, Arcade, he wouldn't have gotten—"

"THEN WHERE WERE YOU?" Arcade's face twisted in pain, his eyes wide and his arms gesturing desperately. "Where were you? I was left there, every day, painfully bearing the weight of your abandonment. I was left there, as a _slave!_ The very fabrications of the world I dreamed of creating was crumbling around me, and I could do nothing to put it back together because I was a _slave!_ I was trapped! The Legion flooded through everything—they put Boone on a cross! They trapped Raul, too! Every day the very meaning of my existence became _technological debates with a power-hungry tyrant._ The very meaning of my existence was getting up each morning, scraping off the bruises from the day before, fearing the worst for the day to come, _just wanting to end it all…_" He drew quick, shuddering breaths, and his shoulders began to tremble, but his hand movements became smaller, closer to his body. "I trusted you with my life," he whimpered. "No, with more than my life. I trusted you with _everything I had._ And you… you left! You tore me to pieces and left! _Abiit nemine salutato…_"

The Courier's eyes were clouded with an emotion that could have been sympathy, or pity. "Arcade, the Latin," he reminded gently.

Arcade took a deep, gasping breath, beginning to bend in over onto himself like he had been kicked in the stomach, barely giving the Courier any acknowledgement. "You say you can explain everything that has happened… you can explain why I had to spend every night itching to lay my hand on a scalpel, not to continue medicinal practice, but to drive into my own self, to rip apart the very core of my soul? _Fortuna vitrea est; tum cum splendet frangitur—"_

I stood too, instinctively grabbing onto him, holding him close. He collapsed into me, his tall figure throwing me off balance and almost sending both of us tumbling to the floor, where the broken glass waited patiently. I managed to regain my balance, though, and Arcade began to gasp into my shoulder. His eyes were still wide open, like the Courier's face was even engraved into the armor he saw there. The Courier approached also, side-stepping the table and offering his open arms to Arcade.

"Don't touch me," Arcade whispered. "Please don't touch me."

The Courier's arms curled back to his sides. "I've never seen you like this, Arcade."

"I was kind of hoping you never had to." He reached his veiny hands up and grasped tightly onto my shoulders, holding me motionless. "You say you can explain. Then, by all means, explain."

My back was already beginning to ache from holding the doctor's weight. The Courier sighed. "I was wrong, Arcade. I was wrong."

"You were a little more than wrong," I muttered bitterly.

"Arcade, sit. Seriously, you're going to fall onto all of this broken glass and get yourself hurt." The Courier reached out to help him back into the chair, resting his hand on the doctor's back. Immediately, as if burned, Arcade shrunk away, dragging me with him. The Courier sighed again. "I wanted to create a Utopia for you, Arcade. A beautiful world, derived from the ruins of the empires before, where there was no sorrow, or suffering, or prejudice, or wrath."

"That possibility is impossible," he mumbled.

"Please sit," the Courier urged.

"Arcade," I coaxed as well. "You really should sit."

He hesitated, still trembling against my shoulder, and then he allowed me to help him back down to his seat. The glass crunched beneath both of our boots, breaking into smaller pieces.

"I loved you, Arcade," the Courier continued.

"Please don't say that."

"I still love you." Arcade grimaced at his words, looking down into his hands. The Courier paused before continuing. "The plan was all laid out. I had been conversing with a modified securitron named Yes Man. We had plans to overthrow all the powers, all the factions of New Vegas, and rule ourselves, the way we saw fit."

"So, a dictator. A tyrant in your own way."

"Please let me continue, Arcade. No, not a dictator, not a tyrant. A peacemaker. I would have thrown out the major powers on the strip—the gangster Omertas, the cannibalistic White Glove Society—and began anew. I would have upgraded the Followers of the Apocalypse, given them their own settlement inside Vegas walls, the power to control their own rations and supplies. I would have cleaned up Freeside. Offered sanctuary to the beings of Outer Vegas. My Vegas would have been an oasis, a beautiful city of life and wellbeing."

When the Courier didn't continue, Arcade encouraged, "So, what went wrong with that plan? When did a beautiful oasis turn into selling me into slavery and helping the Legion across the dam?"

"I had to have some force to tear it all down," he answered simply. "What falls in fire will bring rise through the ashes."

"Alright," the doctor sighed angrily, clenching his fists and looking up. "Let's say that I find all of this a good idea. Suppose that it suddenly all makes sense why you tore everything I had to pieces. _When was any of this supposed to happen?_"

The Courier stared calmly back at him again for a few moments before continuing. "That was where I went horribly wrong, I suppose. I sat back to watch the world turn to ash, and in it all I forgot the one thing that was important to me."

"It's all a deeply romantic story, I must agree," Mister Burke spoke, standing and looking at the Courier. "Would you like me to clean the glass from the floor?"

"Please." The Courier paused a moment while Mister Burke shuffled around to me, offering me another broad, coy smile and an "Excuse me, my dear," before dropping to sweep the glass gently into his hands.

"So, what is your plan now? Take that one important thing back and make everything right?" I asked.

The Courier sighed, hanging his head dramatically. "I've waited too long. The Legion has gone through, destroyed all of Mr. House's securitrons. Yes Man is virtually useless now. Instead, I thought I could start again here." He looked up at us, gesturing his arms wide. "If you look around you, none of this place is of any significance. People who need help are not offered; there are people who offer help to those that don't need it. My Utopia starts here, in this petty, insignificant part of the wasteland that no one truly cares for. Then," he said quietly, watching Arcade, "I will take the important thing back and make everything right."

The doctor met his eyes, holding the gaze for long minutes that felt like hours. Finally, he muttered bluntly, "You're lying. This Utopia, you'd never do something like this."

A sigh escaped the Courier's lips once more, but this one was of disappointment. "You should believe the lie, Arcade."

"I don't want lies," he snapped, his voice becoming weak again. "I want the truth this time."

"The truth will hurt you more than I want you to be hurt, Arcade." When the doctor didn't answer, he shook his head. "I sold you into slavery. That's the truth. I left you, that's the truth. I didn't look back on anything that I've done as a mistake, that's the truth. I helped the Legion across Hoover Dam, that's the truth." His voice was rising in volume, but his face remained cold and impassive. "I led the forces of the first wave into Vegas to tear it down, that's the truth. I lied to Boone about who truly killed his wife, that's the truth. I purposefully kept Boone's psychological scars open so he would find his end at the Fort, that's the truth. I gave Caesar Raul's location so he could become useful to the Legion, that's the truth. I told Caesar where to find Daisy, how to punish her, torture her, get anything he wanted out of her, that's the truth! I kissed the ground beneath Caesar's feet, that's the truth! **I'm building my army here, to claim this land in none other than Caesar's name, that's the truth!**" He dropped back down suddenly to a quiet whisper. "And I do still love you. That's the truth."


	37. Chapter 37

"Please," I pleaded. "Let us out!"

Mister Burke crossed his legs, shrugging. "I'm afraid there's nothing I can do, my dear."

I sputtered. "Nothing you can do? Opening the door would help, for a starter." When he shook his head, I returned to the black metal staring me in the face, impassive despite my desperate nails scratching against its hatch.

"I'm so dreadfully sorry, my dear, but the Courier's word is my law." He idly picked up the sarsaparilla I left on the table, taking a long drink before setting it back where it was. "You must understand. I am in absolutely no position to help you."

"I don't understand," I objected, whirling back to face him, spreading my arms out in wide, frustrated gestures. "You can't possibly think that this is a good idea, Mister Burke. Surely you have somewhere that you call home, somewhere you wouldn't stand seeing burn to ash in the flames the red bull will bring."

Mister Burke stood, crossing over to me in a few silent steps. When he drew closer, I backed up reflexively until I felt the cool metal of the sealed door against my back. He didn't stop until he was inches from my face, and for once, I could see the eyes behind the sunglasses. They were narrowed with amusement, sharp with delight. "My dear," he nearly whispered, then chuckled, the sound making a low vibration against the air. "I'm more like you than you would think."

I cleared my throat, continuing to flatten myself against the wall. "How so?"

"The place I once called home is gone," he answered frankly. "Taken from me, in a bout of fire. Sound familiar? It should."

"You don't know anything about my past."

He grinned. "It's not hard to find information on the woman named Lydia, the helpless scavenger wandering about in the Mojave Wasteland after finding nowhere else to go. There are those who monitor that kind of thing for a price. Certain… _connections_, if you will. You could even say that those connections have names that you would find very familiar…"

"All right," I instinctively dropped to a whisper also. "I think I get the picture."

"I'm not sure that you do. The truth of the matter is that I once found a man that was rather interesting… Brown hair, blue eyes, a lot like your Mason, my dear."

I bit my lip at the name, averting my eyes.

He drew closer, leaning across my shoulder to whisper into my ear. "He waltzed in, trailing an army of ghouls behind him, and shut me out from my home. So, I must say that we are very, very… _alike_." His whisper was almost inaudible on the last word. He drew back, and I realized that I had been holding my breath. "Although, it may not have involved literal flames, Mister Tenpenny was murdered on his balcony in broad daylight, and my, my, his blood still burned when I arrived." He retreated, turning to walk slowly back to his chair. "I'm sure by now you've heard of the 'Lone Wanderer'. It's quite impossible not to; he's every bit as famous as your Courier." He turned abruptly, allowing gravity to pull him down into the chair with a flourish. "The Lone Wanderer thought he was helping. He brought the ghouls into Tenpenny Tower to coexist with the humans, and they killed all the humans. He purified the water for all to drink, and corrupt entrepreneurs and deadly cultists emerge. He destroyed the Enclave's governmental base at Raven Rock, and your friend spent the remainder of his life running for his life and trusting no one. This world is corrupt, my dear. Turned black and ugly."

"Now he's gone," I said bluntly. "So now the world should be alright again."

"_Is_ he gone, though?" He tapped on his chin in mock thinking. "It seems as though his philosophy has continued onwards. In fact, they've turned his home in Megaton into a museum of his work. Just as a little heads up for when you go see, however, it's a great display case of ammunition and knickknacks stolen from fallen enemies. There is terror in brute force, but there is beauty in diplomacy. I do not intend brute force to continue its reign."

"So you teamed up with the Legion."

"You need not know my plans to the very core, my dear," he said quietly, inspecting his fingers with a sudden newfound interest. "Only that the ending result to my world is beautiful."

"Well, the ending result to _my_ world is pretty bleak right now," I frowned, crossing my arms. "I'm kind of stuck here in this little _bombing plane_ with a _psychopathic asshole,_ a _creepy businessman,_ and a _doctor that must have been mentally scarred in the war because his flashback rages are intense._"

"According to the Courier, he doesn't even seem to be a real doctor," said Mister Burke. "Just a researcher, studying fruit with intentions to help the world."

"To hell with that, he's apparently a f*cking brain surgeon," I snapped.

"Just a lost, scarred soul that can't bear the weight of trust, and has no one to trust anymore as it is."

"Just an ex-Enclave, Vertibird flying, kick-ass armor wearing doctor that has been integrated into a new family willing to abandon ship, ride flying machines, and wear whatever the hell it takes to get him away from this plane, and away from the Courier." I turned back to the door, giving the hatch one last half-hearted attempts at opening. It remained sealed. "He's a man of many faces. We'll just leave it at that."

Mister Burke glanced over to where Arcade had curled into a defensive position an hour or two ago before falling asleep. He was much too big to fit in the chair, and occasionally his long legs would slip before he caught himself in his sleep, tightening his little ball. "Is that it?"

"Is what it?"

He tilted his hat back and lowered his sunglasses with a hand. "Your only purpose as of now seems to be helping this doctor."

I shrugged, pawing gently at the hatch. "I don't have much else to do with my free time, Mister Burke."

"Perhaps you feel you can amend those mistakes you've made? You'll have to think a little bigger, envision your impact on the world, if you want to make up for erasing an entire town off the map."

"I'm going to help the Brotherhood foil your plans; isn't that enough?" I bit my lip. "After all, I'm not the one who erased it from the map. All I did was help."

He chuckled, displaying bright white, perfectly aligned teeth. "I suppose that's true, my dear."


	38. Chapter 38

Sorry this took so long. Sweet Arashu, was I busy. Like, you wouldn't believe. So I wrote this today, when I told everyone I was working on my "Big Paper for American History". If it sounds cool, I'm a god. If not, eh, whatever, rough draft.

I've been playing around with what I'm going to do with Mister Burke. If any of you have suggestions, then gurl, don'chu hold back. Post in dem comments, or give meh a message. Either way, I'll get it. Even if I have to strap you to a chair and play the Enclave Radio until your head explodes with the sheer repetitiveness. I'll get it.

* * *

I gently prodded the doctor's shoulder until he shifted, drawing in a breath and opening his eyes into narrow slits. "Lydia?"

"I'm going to open the door somehow," I hissed. "If Mister Burke wakes up, stall him."

I drew away, beginning to turn when Arcade caught hold of my wrist. Cautiously, I looked back, into his worried frown. "Be careful."

"Yeah," I said, and wriggled out of his grasp. "I'm going to look for a terminal."

I followed the path the Courier had disappeared on, through the door behind Mister Burke's chair, where the man had fallen asleep with his head resting on his hand and his legs crossed. I fumbled with my Pip-Boy, pulling up the local map. Convinced my Pip-Boy was just trying to make me feel stupid at this point, I spent the next few moments squinting at the dusty green colored indistinguishable lines.

"Bah, whatever," I hissed, and turned on the light instead. A pool of white light responded to my touch, flooding over me. Keeping a hand on the wall to my right, I followed the direction my feet urged me towards.

The hallway was long, narrow, and twisted tightly on itself. The walls on either side were empty—no rooms, nothing hanging up. I had to keep glancing at the floor because my mind began to fuzz over with the allure of the never ending path ahead.

I turned another sharp right, and the hallway faced me against a dead end. To my left was a closed door, and across the hall from it was an open entrance to a little room. Glancing inside, I failed to suppress a grin at the sight of an exposed terminal sitting right in the middle of a little desk. I shuffled inside, reaching out my Pip-Boy-clad arm, inwardly rejoicing as the pale light spilled over the green screen.

My fingers gently stroked the keyboard, turning it on.

_Password required._

_Shit. _I bit my lip, glancing around on the desk for anything useful. Besides a few pencils beside the terminal, the desk was an empty, smooth grey. Sighing, I clicked a few keys, and the screen switched to display a few columns of various symbols and seemingly random words. I clicked on the first word: _SHARP._ A little notification appeared in the bottom right corner.

_1 out of 5 letters correct._

"If you're trying to be sneaky, you need to turn your Pip-Boy light off."

I jolted to attention, whirling around to find the Courier breathing down my neck. He smiled sweetly, tilting his head gently so a lock of his black hair went askew.

"Not much of a perceptive one, I see," he continued, then straightened. "Trying to hack into my terminal."

"I just want to get off the plane," I stuttered, my voice quivering. The Courier's hand twitched at his side, itching to close around a little pistol with a miniature painting of a woman on the handle.

"I don't think that will be happening anytime soon." His fingers stroked the painting, lightly tapped at her head. "You should go back to Mister Burke before he starts missing you."

"You mean '_before I shoot your face off,'_ right?"

His sweet grin was turning sour, sinister. "Perhaps. Either way, it'd be better for both of us if you step away from the terminal." His hand closed around the handle, pulling the gun an inch out of its holster. Sophisticated, elegant designs swirled designs were engraved on the barrel.

"Don't you dare hurt her," warned a familiar voice from behind the Courier. "Put down the gun."

He laughed. "Arcade, you can't shoot me," he turned to look over his shoulder, but then froze. Arcade had his new weapon drawn, holding a squirming, suffocating Mister Burke in a choke hold.

"No," the doctor admitted. "But I don't have anything against killing _him._"

Mister Burke opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, struggling to pull Arcade's armor-clad arm from around his neck. His fancy hat was missing, proudly revealing his thinning hairline.

The Courier thought a moment, and then shook his head. "It's a choice between you and him. You think I would rather let you go than risk seeing him hurt?"

Mister Burke was at the brink of tears, He twisted his body, but Arcade followed him, keeping the man tightly in his death grasp. "Yeah, okay," he answered, and then dropped Mister Burke, who crumpled to the ground in a fetal position, both hands on his throat as he gleefully gulped in air. Arcade's brows were furrowed as he lifted his pistol, pressing it against his own temple.

"Arcade," the Courier hissed, his eyes now wide.

"Open the doors," the doctor whispered, and then swallowed with considerable effort. His hand was trembling.

"Arcade," he repeated with more urgency. "I can't do that."

"_Victrix causa diis placuit sed—_"

"DAMMIT, ARCADE, PUT THE GUN DOWN." The Courier cursed under his breath, shaking his head. Then he turned, shoving me relentlessly out of the way, and bent over his terminal. "F*ck, Arcade. I don't even know what you're saying."

I held a hand out to Arcade, mouthing: _Put the gun down!_ He lowered his pistol back to his side, meeting my desperate frown with an unreadable expression. Around his feet, Mister Burke was eerily still, his eyes wide and his arms clutching at his stomach. By the shock on his face, it seemed as if it hadn't occurred to him exactly how expendable he was.

"The door is open," the Courier hissed, turning back to Arcade. "Are you happy?"

"Great," I whispered, moving closer to Arcade, tugging insistently on his shoulder plating. "Let's go, then. Come on."

"Don't leave with her."

Arcade holstered his weapon, his face suddenly blank.

"Arcade."

The doctor took a deep breath, looking the Courier in the eye. "We have what we came here for, I guess," he muttered, then stepped over Mister Burke, out into the hall. I gritted my teeth nervously, glancing back at the Courier, who was fuming—his hands were clenched at his sides, his nails were clawing into his palm—before following him.


	39. Chapter 39

Sorry about the wait, you guys. Writer's block is a bitch. Questions or comments... blah blah... I'll just post this and get back to writing more chapters. Sounds like a plan.

* * *

"Arcade—"

"Don't say anything yet," he whispered, then cleared his throat. "We have our information—an army of Legionnaires are headed this way, and the Brotherhood need to get their soldiers mobilized against them. Let's distribute the information, and then we'll talk."

He hopped nimbly out of the plane, lifting his hands up to catch my fat man that I passed to him before I swung my legs down to the ground.

The dusk of night trapped the world in shadows. At the slight breeze, my body caught a sudden chill, and I pulled the sides of my fox-hood tightly around my throat. Arcade was already walking forward, away from the plane, in a brisk, stiff fashion. I scowled, trotting faster to grab ahold of his arm.

"No," I hissed, jerking him to a stop. "I think we need to talk about this now. If it bothers you so much that you're going to wander off into Behemoth territory without a game plan, then we need to talk about this no—"

"_**We don't need to talk about this now!**_" We both jumped in surprise at his tone, leaving an awkward silence to hover in the air like a boatfly. He looked feebly over his shoulder at me, grimacing. "It's just—" he stuttered quietly, then hung his head. "It's just, I don't think I can talk about it now. I'm…" he rolled his shoulders, throwing his arms up in despair. "I'm so pathetic, I know, but I can't talk about this. And if that means strolling casually into the path of a deadly overgrown super mutant, then I'm walking around it—this way, instead." With that, he sharply changed direction.

I jogged to keep up with his long, limber legs. "I'm the one with the Pip-Boy, Arcade," I reminded him. "Don't just walk ahead like that, we could get jumped by aliens, murder-raped by giant green men, and bombed by this goddamn plane all at once. Arcade. _Arcade!_ Hey!"

"You may have the Pip-Boy," he muttered. "But I have the armor _and _the gun."

* * *

_A red, trickling waterfall seeps from between my fingers. I lift my hand gingerly from the wound on my side, reaching out, outward towards the mound of bodies on the edge of the square. The man with the open, glazed over eyes is beginning to burn with the rest of them; the very edges of his robe are charred, disintegrating to ash. The smaller body beside him is still latched to his hand, and her dress is too charred to make out what once were the engravings of little geckos that my father had painstakingly embroidered himself, for his darling little girl._

_The woman with the blowtorch isn't laughing anymore. Her eyes narrow, and her face turns to a scolding sneer. "Couldn't even protect your sister…"_

"_Couldn't protect her," the crowd echoes. "Your sister… couldn't protect..."_

_Their chants are like a song._

"_Your sister… Couldn't protect her… Couldn't protect her from us!"_

_The explosion from the gunshot… the sharp pain snapping at my shoulder… my knees bruising as they dig into the ground…_

_The cold barrel of a gun presses against the back of my head, digging under the blonde hair._

"_**Tell me now why I shouldn't add your body to the pile.**__"_

"_**Why…**__" I whisper. My voice scratches at my throat like a knife. "__**Mason… why…?**__"_

A gentle, yet insistent tugging at my shoulder tore me from my slumber. Through my sluggish haze, I managed to distinguish Arcade silhouetted in the abnormally bright white lights on the ceiling.

"Who's Mason?" he asked, and then added harshly, "Don't answer that. Come on, Lyons has come up with a plan on our next move; she wants us at the meeting."

I struggled into a sitting position, taking in my surroundings. I had been lying on top of a table with a blanket haphazardly stuffed underneath me, acting as a mattress. "I don't ever remember getting to the Citadel… much less passing out over by Sawbones."

The Mister Gutsy bobbed in acknowledgement before slowly returning to its little vials on the counter. Arcade rubbed the back of his stiff neck anxiously. "That's because you never made it to the Citadel. You passed out right outside, and I had to drag you in. You're welcome, by the way. I told you that we should have stopped to rest."

"I still stand by my decision to keep going. We could have been made Behemoth food if we had stopped running to sleep a while. Or, if we were lucky, we could have gotten smashed to death by a random UFO."

"Speaking of which, Lyons was not happy to hear that Star Paladin had died," he scowled. "You're welcome. Again." His emerald eyes found sudden interest in the dirty floor tiles. "I was told that once you woke up, I was to drag you over to the labs so we can get stuck with the dirty jobs that'll get us killed some more."

I sighed, following his gaze, scanning a mysterious brown stain on one of the tiles. It was probably blood, from Sawbones and his love for cutting people open. "You don't have to stay around with me, you know. You can leave at any time."

He laughed, but it was strained and depressed. "And go where? I can't go back to the Courier. I just… can't. He's a psychopath, Lydia, and I…" He bit his lip. "Lydia, I still can't even figure out if he was lying or not."

"About him still loving you?"

"No, about the other heart wrenching part," he snapped, rolling his eyes. "Just… come on, alright? Lyons is waiting for us." He made to turn away, but stopped, glancing back. "I'm not going anywhere any time soon," he said gently. "Just so long as you don't do anything stupid, like, say, selling me into slavery or something. Okay?"

"I could say the same thing to you, I guess," I offered him a bitter smile, urging myself to my feet.


	40. Chapter 40

"—what we need to focus on right now is building our army and securing our perimeters." Lyons was perched on the platform overlooking the countless men and women in armor and robes packed into the labs. Beside her, on a small end-table, sat a radio, where her speech was also being listened to by the rest of the Citadel's population that had to find comfort in the courtyard. When Arcade and I entered, gently slipping through the crowd, Lyons glanced at us with an impatient scowl before continuing. "The enemy has already been slipping through with whole bomber planes. We can't let them catch us off guard!

"They are going to come at us with all they've got. Their damn planes, their damn Behemoths, and their damn infantries are going to come waltzing in like they own the place. But you know what? _Do you know what?_" Her armored gloves gripped the railing as she leaned forward, scanning the mass of the crowd. "We have advantages—eyes that have seen this Legion inside and out. Their so-called legions are all wearing _football armor._ Soldiers, we've faced more technologically advanced enemies in the past _24 hours._ Their biggest strength is in their numbers. So what do we do? The answer is simple." She leaned back, standing straight again and giving us a broad flick of her left hand. "We meet those numbers! We meet their strength! By the time they take a step over our border with dreams of taking over, we'll be powerful enough to **rip them apart with our bare hands!**"

The chorus of gleeful cheers from the crowd nearly sent me to my knees with the combined volume. A few of the soldiers were hi-fiving each other or slapping the robed people on the back.

"I need a group to defend our southwest flank!"

A soldier without his helmet threw a hand upwards, towards her. "My squad will march out to our camp by the Rockland Car Tunnel!"

"Good! We need groups scattered along the perimeter at several points—"

I whispered to Arcade, "I thought you said she was going to give us another mission that was likely to get us killed. Looks to me like she's just telling her troops to do exactly what they've been doing already."

"—we need groups on constant scouts within the—"

Arcade frowned at me. "I said 'probably'. She might just be waiting for everyone to clear out, so she can talk to us in private. That's usually how the dirty work gets handed down."

"Meanwhile, the rest of us will be advancing our strength! The initiates must be trained and ready to battle! The guns must be upgraded; the power-fists must be tuned! Also, I've been forming a small group to increase our numbers, to spread the word, and to fix our beloved Liberty Prime! Everyone meet Raul—" As she pointed, my head swiveled to see Raul stand on top of a table, holding the disembodied head of a robot in triumph as he waved to the crowd. "He's the new man on the mechanic's team—you all probably know him from his great job fixing Sawbones."

"Yeah, thanks, Raul!" cried a robed man with a grin. "Now whenever I get a paper cut, I don't have to worry about getting my leg amputated in the process!"

"_We will beat the Communist invaders!_" the robotic head piped in.

The labs were filled with laughter and the joyous chants of: "Yeah!" "We can do it!" and "Damn Communists!"

Lyons firmly smashed a fist against the railing. "Good! Let's show those f*cking pansies how to fight a real fight!" She waited until the yeahs and hoorahs died down before jabbing a finger accurately in my direction. "Lydia, you and the rest of your squad meet me by the courtyard entrance. I hope you like to travel; you're going to help us build our numbers!"

"I told you she would deal with us in private," Arcade nudged my shoulder. "I would be surprised if any mission debriefing she hands us from now on isn't coated with filth and the slightest whiff of imminent death or serious maiming."

I pouted, beginning to shuffle my way further into the crowd, with the tall doctor in tow. "She didn't even say please."

"Maybe we can get our limbs dismembered in a tropical paradise. I wouldn't mind that, I think. Ice cold martinis, beautiful men on the beach," he mumbled in a sarcastic tone right as Boone generously shoved a soldier out of his way to join our migrating group.

"You need to stop avoiding me," the sniper growled under his breath.

Arcade had suddenly tensed up, but his face remained impassive. "I wasn't avoiding you."

"You told me last night you had _stuff_ to do."

"And I did," he sniffed. "Lydia was unconscious—"

"You had already delivered her to the damn clinic—"

"—and I had paperwork to fill out."

"Why do you think that I would believe you had _paperwork_ to fill out?!"

"Because you won't let me be in peace!" Arcade whirled on him as we reached the outskirts of the crowd. "Because if I tell you that I'm not ready to talk, you're going to keep insisting until—"

"I'm not going to insist, Arcade," Boone grumbled, catching him off guard. "But damn it, I don't want to hear any of this shit about paperwork. Alright?"

"Yes, alright," the doctor mumbled quietly, putting a hand on the rail as he began to ascend the stairs. I glanced at both of them with raised eyebrows before following.

Lyons wasn't alone as we approached the courtyard entrance. She was hunched over, conversing seriously with an elderly fellow in a robe. When she caught sight of us approaching from the corner of her eye, she straightened and cleared her throat. "Where's your suit friend? Benny, wasn't it?"

I glanced behind us at the empty courtyard. "I don't know. Somewhere?"

The sentinel gestured firmly to the elderly man, who nodded politely. "This is my father, Elder Lyons. We have a job for you to do."

"That seems pretty obvious," I muttered gruffly. "Just point me in the right direction and I'll start walking."

Elder Lyons stepped forward to speak. "We have connections in many fields of the Capital Wasteland that might be willing to help us against this Legion of yours." My eyes kept gravitating to the massive bald spot on his head, where it seemed all his hair took a vacation to his long, shaggy beard and decided to stay there. "We want you to go and see if our contacts have any troops to spare. Starting with Rivet City."

"Where is Rivet City, exactly?"

The elder nodded to his daughter, who seized onto my Pip-Boy and began plugging in coordinates. "It's a city residing in a partially sunken ship; you can't miss it," he continued. "Just keep following the river, and you'll reach it eventually."

I nodded, muttering a quiet, "Yes, sir," before turning to eye Boone. "Are we all going, then? Besides Raul, since he decided to find better friends with robot heads than with us?"

"Don't be a sore thumb; he's just trying to help," Arcade scolded.

Boone grunted, "And if that Chairman doesn't show up soon, we're leaving him behind too."

"Harsh," I said. "How long are we waiting for him, then?"

"I'd say his time is already up. Let's go." The sniper pushed me out of the way, adjusting the large gun on his back as he went. Arcade and I glanced at each other, shrugged, and then fell into step behind him.

A melodic voice drifted down from above our heads. "_Her room was completely black; I hugged her, and she hugged back!_"

Looking up to a small balcony on the wall, I muttered, "Oh, hey I found Benny."

"_Like a sailor said quote: 'Ain't that a hole in the boat!' My head keeps spinning, I go to sleep and keep grinning, if this is just the beginnin', my life is gonna be…_" The Chairman proudly lifted an assault rifle and a pistol above his head, a wide, cheeky smile on his face. "_Bee-you-tiful!_"

"Looks like he's got us some new toys," I grinned back, nudging Boone in the side. "I think we should wait a little longer for him to come with us, then."


	41. Chapter 41

"Hold up, you guys," I hissed suddenly, tugging on Boone's arm to jerk him to a stop. "I'm getting a whole bunch of readings on my Pip-Boy."

Boone rewarded my perception with a grunt, pointing to a round building in the distance with carts displaying the words "_AQUA PURA_" stacked up outside. There were many more Brotherhood soldiers walking idly around with varying sizes of lethal weapons gripped in their armored hands.

I narrowed my eyes irritably, jerking him closer to the screen of my Pip-Boy, where it displayed on the compass a mass of red tick marks hiding just beyond the corner. "_I'm getting a whole bunch of readings on my Pip-Boy,_" I repeated.

"Maybe they're Radroaches," Boone suggested.

"Or maybe they're Moleroaches, and we're all screwed. Maybe it's all a horde of Behemoths just chilling around, and we're more than screwed. My point is that we can't keep walking absentmindedly until we know what's over there."

In an unspoken agreement, all heads turned to look at Benny.

The Chairman blinked for a minute. "Hey, what's your bag, huh? Trying to jump bad with the guy who gave you the rifles and the ammo?"

"You didn't give us the rifles or the ammo," Boone said bluntly. "They were gifts from the Brotherhood so we won't get our asses beat while we're getting them new recruits."

Benny pouted. "Yeah, but without me you wouldn't have even picked them up. You need me, you dig? You need me like the air you choke on, baby."

"I'll go," I sighed. "Just… here, hold this." I pushed my assault rifle into his hands.

"Thanks, doll-face," he whispered in surprise. "You ought to be the ginchiest chick I ever met."

"Yeah, yeah, just give me the translation when I get back," I waved half-heartedly, striding closer to the wall.

Pressing myself flat against the cool surface, I inched to the corner. Slowly, I coaxed my head slowly over, making my movements as slow and unnoticeable as possible.

A pile of rubble obscured my vision—small rock formations with metal spikes driven into them at all angles to form a makeshift fence—but I managed to make out an elevated platform, some tables with clutter on them, and some humanoid figures pacing back and forth. I squinted, trying to make out what they were, exactly, but my eyes just saw them as slightly green blurs with variously sized guns in their hands.

"What do you see?"

I jumped in surprise, drawing in a sharp gasp as I whirled around to see Boone leaning against the wall. "Holy shit," I hissed. "Don't scare me like that."

The sniper continued to stare coolly at me through his sunglasses, an unreadable statue. "What do you see?" he repeated.

"I don't know," I muttered, a sharp tone still in my voice. "Give me your sniper and I can figure it out."

He slipped his gun from its holster on his back, offering a brisk "No." He moved past me, brushing his leather-clad shoulder against mine before kneeling, gazing through his own scope through the barrier. After a moment, he lowered his gaze to glance at me. "Super mutants."

"I thought so," I said, kneeling next to him. "I imagine they're not the friendly neighborhood Jacobstown resident kind, are they?"

He raised the scope back to his sunglasses, and then scowled. "No. The Black Mountain kind, more like. Look." He slid over a step, still keeping a firm grip on his gun but offering the scope. He had it positioned on the platform, the crosshairs peering through the spikes lining it to a Brute with a minigun standing stationary in front a pile of mesh bags. Down at the Brute's knees was a human, hunched over with hands behind his back. He was conversing urgently with the Brute, but the mutant twisted its arms, sending the barrel of the minigun to smack the human in the back of the head.

"They've got a captive," I whispered.

"I could take him out nice and easy. Mercy kill."

"We're not mercy killing anyone," I snapped, giving him a small shove on his shoulder. "How would you feel if that was you up there, huh? You would want to be rescued."

"Of course," Boone grunted. "But hope isn't reality. Do you think we can charge in, head on, and get him out without any casualties? I can end his misery, right here, right now—"

"Okay, then, bucko," I continued. "What if it was Arcade up there? Would you want to rescue him then?"

The sniper's face remained emotionless, but he hesitated. "I can end his misery right here—"

"I'm sure Arcade would be _so _happy to know how much you care," I muttered, standing to put my back against the wall. I pulled on Boone's arm until he followed. "We need to think about this first, alright? We can't just go around mercy killing people we don't know unless there's no alternative."

Boone gestured down to the front of the mutants' makeshift fort, where several metal panels were laid out in minimal cover. "That's the only entrance. They'll see us coming either when we get in or sometime else before we get up to that platform. I can provide sniper cover from here, but it won't help if I can't see them. I'd guess we would be facing about three casualties."

"So you're saying one of us would live then?"

"I would," he said simply. "I'd be over here with my sniper. The rest of you idiots would be charging head on."

I sighed, peering out at the entrance, then at the six or so mutants prowling inside. "Those slabs out there at the front can provide some cover for some of us. We can lure out the mutants there, bottleneck them while we pick them off—"

"—and they'd shoot the captive as soon as they figure out we want him."

I bit my lip. "It'd be great if we had a couple stealth boys," I murmured.

"Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but we don't. But I'll tell you what I do have: a nice couple rounds of .308s—"

"Shut up, Boone. Let me think." I could barely make out the gruff sounds of the Brute calling to another mutant, who responded with brittle laughter. "Get me a stick," I told him, glancing back at where Arcade and Benny were standing awkwardly, waiting for our return. "And get the others. I think I might have a plan."


	42. Chapter 42

Sorry I haven't been updating very much lately. Last portion of school is always a rush to the finish. I promised myself I'd get this done sometime tonight, and I totally did. So here's this chapter. I hope you all enjoy it. Don't expect me to meet deadlines. I've got to read three books before mid May, plus write like a million papers. I'm still going to try to get more chapters in before the school year ends, but sweet dannyboys, don't hold me to my word at all.

* * *

"How much do you weigh?"

I reached up, latching my fingers into the crevices of a rock, wrapping my arms around one of the spikes. Looking back at Boone, I scowled. "Is that a fat joke?"

"The opposite, really," he grunted, stepping back to let my feet dangle. I began to hoist myself upwards, grunting with the effort. "You're small as a twig. I could break you in half."

"Charming." Keeping low, I glanced towards the entrance of the mutants' fort, where a hardly noticeable blur of black slid away from view behind one of the slabs of metal. "I think we're ready," I called back to the sniper. "We're counting on you not to miss."

"I don't usually miss," he grunted, roughly grabbing onto the barrel of his gun, backing up to a lone, shriveled tree that he crouched behind. At his foot was the rough plan I had scrawled out in the dust, a scribble of Xs and Os. Boone settled the gun on his shoulders, shifting them like massive plates until it settled, nestled in its familiar spot. I turned back to the contents of the fort, peering out between two large, rusty metal spikes. A mutant with an assault rifle was pacing back and forth, wiping the sweat from its puffy green brow and constantly adjusting the straps it used as makeshift armor around its chest. "If we make it out of this alive," I heard Boone call "I need to name my rifle."

"Oh yeah?" I hissed back, checking the ammo on my own weapon. "Got a name yet?"

"Yeah," he grunted. There was a quiet _whoosh_, and the mutant pacing in my sight froze, slipping motionless to the ground with a visible red stain spreading across its face. "I think I'll name her Carla."

"You're going to name your weapon of destruction after your wife," I confirmed bluntly. At his scowling silence, I added "I'm not hating."

The Brute with the minigun shot to attention right when there was a call from the entrance. A few rounds were shot from the overlarge weapon towards the checkered suit that dashed back behind cover. "You come here!" the Brute demanded with a laugh. "I will flay you!"

I took a deep breath, collecting my thoughts for a split second before sliding between the small space between the spikes I had been peering through. The rough texture of the rock scraped against my bare legs, and I winced as by boots hit the ground before sneaking beside another boulder. The Brute was definitely distracted by Benny, who fired a few shots toward it. The Chairman was more of a short-distance ranged fighter, and his pistol shots fired too high on all counts.

Cautiously, I stood, beginning in a circle around the Brute, towards another mutant with a nail board in its hands. With my gun at the ready, I took aim upon its head. The sharp sound of loose rocks being trodden on by something heavy came to my ears from my left. For a moment, I took my attention away from the mutant with the nail board.

"RAAAAAAA!" came the sudden battle cry of the mutant that had been hiding away just beyond my view. It held the slender form of a hunting rifle in its massive, green hands.

"Oh, shit!" I cringed in reflex right as it fired. Fortunately, the bullet whizzed right above me with an audible whistle, slicing a clean hole in the flag suspended on my back. Heart pounding, I willed myself to straighten and release fire in return. At first, I aimed too far to the right and had to coax the fighting weapon to its mark—right into the mutant's chest.

Even with bullets pounding into its torso, it still put to work reloading its gun before the pressure was too much and it dropped the rifle, falling to its knees. The assault rifle in my hands clicked in response to its empty clip, and I cursed again, fumbling for more ammo. From the far side of the platform, the Brute with the minigun was reloading its death machine when a sharp _wshh!_ shot it from its hands. The Brute growled in response, knocking the captive violently aside as it drew a new hunting rifle, surveying the outskirts of the fort for Boone.

An explosion of pain erupted on my face, sending me on a blinding tumble to the dusty ground. I coughed, hacking up drops of blood from a lip that I had bitten, instinctively reaching up to feel that my ear had split open. Looking up, I saw the mutant with the nail board, its makeshift weapon raised above its head for a finishing blow.

Just in time, I rolled out of the way, abandoning my rifle in the dirt. Still clutching to my face, I backed up, urging my head to make sense of what was going on, to make a plan. The mutant growled in response, swatting at me over and over again in a newfound blind fury. The adrenaline in my ears rose to a high pitched ring as I threw myself out of the way for each blow, eventually backing up into a small space hidden on all sides by rubble, with a table to my right with a few metallic cases most likely holding ammunition. Feeling the tight strain in my chest from having cornered myself, I sized up the space between the oncoming mutant, judging the time between each of its blows before I dashed to slip behind it.

Before I could get far, a firm mass clamped down on my arms, lifting me high into the air with a gleeful, gruff cackle. There had been another mutant—another Brute—taking refuge by the ammunition boxes that I had neglected to see. It rammed me up against the other mutant—also laughing—before carrying me kicking and squirming out into the open.

"Crush her bones to powder," the mutant with the nail board suggested. "We can sprinkle it on our supper, give it good taste."

The Brute laughed, beginning to shake me violently. The world twisted and curved as it replied, "Supper never have good taste! You just want excuse to crush and smash!"

"BOONE!" I shrieked desperately, already feeling the splitting headache trickling over my consciousness.

In response came a _whss—splat!_ as a bullet whizzed past my head to find its mark. The violent shaking stopped, and I was lowered slightly to the ground before a bloodlusting roar was sent out through the air. Looking over my shoulder, I found myself facing half of a swollen, green face—the other half had been shot clean off, replacing the green with new, bloody, red flesh. The Brute held me higher again, towards the other mutant, who immediately took a stance like a baseball hitter hovering over home plate, its expression twisted in concentration as it wavered its nail board.

I heard Arcade's voice calling my name from the entrance, followed by Benny crying out an objection and several gunshots. The nail board reared back, building up power. I squirmed my final effort, cringing away while at the same time lashing out with my boots at my mutilated Brute captor.

From the corner of my eye zoomed a bright, blue light. For a moment I was blinded by the intensity of the light, and then it was gone as quickly as it came. The Brute holding me was confused, and then it seethed with rage, letting another roar escape its bellowing throat.

"NOOOOO! NOO!" It repeated, thrusting me in the direction of where Arcade was standing, somewhat dumbfounded, holding his oddly shaped pistol outstretched in his hand. With a start, I realized that the other mutant was nothing more than a pile of slightly glowing blue ash.

The Brute on the platform took Arcade's astonished paralysis as an opportunity to fire its hunting rifle at his hand—the pistol shot out of his hand and the Brute began to tediously reload. Arcade had snapped to attention, diving for both his and my weapons in the dust.

Meanwhile, the Brute holding me suspended in the air had caught sight of Boone, who was aiming for another shot coming to my rescue. The mutant lifted me higher, directly in front of him, so that I blocked his view.

"Shit," I hissed, kicking out once more but knowing perfectly well it was futile. "Shit, Boone, don't you dare try to take this shot…"

I could see the sniper adjusting his aim with the most subtle of movements—he was practically motionless. I closed my eyes, wondering what it would feel like to have half of my face blown off by a bullet.

Yet again, the familiar whistle of a bullet whizzing past caught my ears. A heartbeat passed. Another heartbeat. And then I fell to the ground, to my knees, then to my face. My breathing was quick and shallow as my mind raced, trying to find out where I hurt, where the damage was. Pushing up with my hands to a halfway-sitting position, I decided that perhaps I wasn't hurt after all. Looking back, the mutilated Brute was crumpled on the ground. Boone had shot it right between the eyes, through that new hole in the flag suspended on my back.

Arcade had scrambled to his feet, without the weapons after all. "The captive-!" he muttered, then realized with a burst of courage that he was the only one capable of continuing forward. The Brute with the hunting rifle had decided that survival was futile, and now had the captive held in one massive arm, holding his rifle up to the poor man's head with the other.

I wasn't sure whether the doctor simply didn't think in that situation, or if he was just so clever that it was all according to his plan. He began in a brisk run, then in a heartbeat quickened to a sprint. His long legs made him limber and quick. He rushed the Brute, who, startled, loosened its grip on the captive. Arcade reached out with his extended arms to grab onto its form, barreling his entire body into it. With the force, the Brute stumbled backwards, and then fell over the side of the platform to the valley of spikes they had set up below to guard their fort.

Arcade stood there, breathing heavily for a moment, and then turned with wild eyes to look at the captive. Licking his dry lips, he stooped to the captive's level, murmured a vague reassurance, and lifted the man onto his shoulders, standing, turning to face me. His face was pale but his cheeks were flushed. "I think…" he whispered, as if he could hardly believe it. "I think I've got the captive!"


	43. Chapter 43

LAST DAY OF SCHOOL AND I GOT ANOTHER CHAPTER IN.

Hahaha. Haha. Ha.

Enjoy.

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I stumbled—nearly blind in a disoriented trance—towards the entrance of the fort, Arcade following close behind with a similar expression of blank, wide-eyed disbelief on his face. The captive slung over his shoulder was quiet, reserved. A middle-aged man with neat, black hair and a short, square chin, he occasionally gave a small sound of discomfort when Arcade slipped on the steep slope but was otherwise silent.

Benny was waiting, standing over a super mutant just in front of the entrance, breathing heavily as he looked over his shoulder at us. At the sight of the captive, he straightened, taking a look around him. His face flushed, and his mouth twisted in a newfound anger as he advanced towards the doctor.

"You nearly got yourself killed!" he growled, throwing his hands up at him. Shaking his head and gesturing at his now blood-stained checkered suit, he added: "_You nearly got me killed!_ Next time you go ape into the heat of battle, _babe_, check to see if there are any mutants waiting for you around the corner, _'kay?_" He drew a furious inhale and returned to kick the limp pile of green flesh on the ground.

"Benny—" I murmured, reaching out a hand towards his shoulder. "Benny, it's all right. We're okay, right? You're okay. We're all okay."

The Chairman sighed and shook his head, but stepped back from the mutant nonetheless. "We're all okay, huh? Fine as a gold bell's ting?" He gestured towards my face. "How many bullets did your ear take before it flew off?"

With a new feeling of alarm dropping in the pit of my stomach, I reached up to feel the throbbing half of my face. Under my fingers, the already hardening blood tugged painfully at my skin, but my ear was still there, the soft curves throbbing with the rest of my face as one unit.

Arcade dropped to his knees, setting the captive down before looking back at me, gesturing for me to join him on the ground. "Your ear doesn't look good," he admitted. "I should have a look at it, though without supplies, I don't know what good I can do."

My knees did not want to bend gently no matter how hard I urged them, so I ended up just letting myself fall beside Arcade. He took a deep breath before drawing close, beginning to gently pull and tug at my ear, inspecting. "Benny," I said again, stronger this time. "You should sit down."

He complied instantly, and a billow of dust was lifted when he sat, adding to the increasing display of colors accumulating on his suit. "I killed it with my bare hands, you know. Just… punched it to death," he sniffed, then rubbed at his nose. His brow was beaded with sweat, and his hair was falling from its original coaxed position and into his eyes. He looked at me, and for the first time I noticed just how large his eyes were. They were bright, so easy to distinguish on his face, and yet I hadn't taken the time to look at them. They flickered down, where they fixated on his shoes, now scuffed an entirely new color. He brushed at them absentmindedly as he spoke, beginning to return them to their original black. "He shot the gun from my hand, and… I saw you being held up by that Brute, and I thought it was over."

For a moment, I was stunned by his lack of jargon or slang. My stomach ate at my insides further as I wondered if he really was okay. "It's not over," I offered. "It could have been over, but it's not. We're all okay."

His eyes returned to gaze at me once more, sheepishly lit up a little with pride. "I punched it to death," he repeated. "With my bare hands."

I smiled, giving him a reassuring tap on the shoulder. "Way to go, tiger."

Arcade leaned back just as Boone shuffled into the fort. "I can't do anything for your ear, Lydia," the doctor muttered. "Not unless Rivet City is kind enough to lend me a stimpack and some ice, which I doubt. For the moment, you're going to have to live with a rip in your ear." He busied himself immediately with untying the captive's hands from behind his back. "Though, in a bright perspective, the scar will be quite wicked and might get you into a couple bar fights. That's always fun."

"Rivet City will lend you the supplies," the captive spoke suddenly. Arcade hesitated at the sound, a little surprised. The man looked at him in the eye confidently. "As long as I get back safely, I'll talk to some people; they can get you the things you need."

"Thank you," I answered. "I'm Lydia; this is Benny, Arcade, and Boone."

"I'm forever in your debt," the captive smiled kindly. "I'm Harkness, head of Rivet City security. They would have killed me," he added, glancing to the mutant Benny had pummeled to death.

"They didn't look like they were going to," Arcade said mildly.

"Yes, well…" Harkness twisted his mouth, as if considering how to phrase his next sentence. "They were intending to turn me into one of them—that's what they've been taking the captives for, anyhow—but once they found out that I couldn't be turned, they would have killed me for sure."

"Couldn't be turned?" I asked.

"Couldn't," he repeated.

Pursing my lips in a grim line, I moved on. "How did they get you, of all people, if you're head of security?"

Harkness scowled. "I was visiting Pinkerton—he lives a little ways off from the city itself, you know? They snuck up behind me, I suppose. Hit me right in the back of the head and drug me over here. When I get back, none of the guys will let me live it down, I'm sure." Then, blinking at Arcade, he added: "Though, if it weren't for all of you, I wouldn't be getting back in the first place."

Arcade nodded at him reassuringly, flashing him a brief smile.

Knees wobbly, I managed to coax myself to stand. "We need to get to Rivet City, then. It's close by, right?"

Harkness nodded eagerly, gesturing outside the fort. "It's just around the corner; big ship, can't miss it."

As everyone stumbled to their feet, Boone grunted: "You're welcome."

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And as I stated earlier... patience... everyone's pleas for freaking Benny and Lydia relationship will come. It'll happen, I promise.


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